Laura Carter

 

 

 

 

 

A Hunger

 

Always at a basic cusp,
suchlight of water and iron:

you remove a frail spike
and count to ten while walking through poor

neighborhoods. Here you are,
another day, lying next to him—

naked—in a big, brass twin bed.
What’s funny is he

hurt you before you could
say your peace. You remove a spike

from his back and eat a peach.
What’s forgiveness when

a perfect day would be opposed
to this antithe-

sis to this, sis. You are my sis.
There will be no blue wedding,

but you will borrow your
confession from a textbook.

You forgive him,
but this is so tenuous.

 

 

 

How to Remove an Iron from a New Tongue

 

By someone’s undoing, you
eviscerate design.
                                You’re not saying

is a way to
say what

capital would have you say.
But, you see, you’re empty.

Oftentimes a social field
brings with it a set of

new sponges to soak in.
But where are
                                your eyes, and where are your deeper ear holes?

You plant insignia.
Here is what you should do:
tell it it is a very good

painting, a best one, in truth.
                                You tell

Spinoza that you’d like to be taken back to where

there is no paraphernalia or
golden knowledge, as a world might say.

Then you erase all of those rough edges.
Then you build interior,
known for its depth.
                                In a nothing

sound reverberates only it’s lighter.

 

Laura Carter lives in Atlanta, Georgia.