Boston Review
CURRENT ISSUE
table of contents
FEATURES
new democracy forum
new fiction forum
poetry
fiction
film
archives
ABOUT US
masthead
mission
rave reviews
contests
writers’ guidelines
internships
advertising
SERVICES
bookstore locator
literary links
subscribe

 

Search this site or the web Powered by FreeFind


Site Web



 


house/boat

 

So we shoveled it. Climbed over it.
When a boy's loved he is loved.


We kissed him at the countdown.
Then we went to bed.


Then I woke and on the screen
an executioner's wife for him was worried.


Both on and off the screen,
there was still a lot of snow.


I went out and stuck my hand in it,
felt around for a handle. None.


So I picked myself up and walked to the bank.
Does it seem


to you I am alone? Guesses may enter. In coats or
shyly. No, not alone. Not


exactly.


The wind was a friend. Dining
and down. I bent over,


I listened to the flow.
Home, yes


but leaving. Home, sure, fine,
but, where's the bathroom?


Where's the light? Anyway,
the soft-swell said, lisping its S's


Anyway, if you're at home here,
you're a guest. So I bowed.


I said, I'm sorry to have bored you.
Broad, the river jello-d in a thud


of sun.
I climbed aboard,


I rowed. (For a guest will often
take the oars when urged.)


A border flew open like a cough.


I never paused, I never looked up.


I leaned back to balance
my enormous brown tongues as they dipped


to green and red
furrows of light between wet-mounds.


My boat rocked, steady
un-steady. Was I welcomed?


It seemed I was as I gripped and privately
beheld.


The night soon lost its head. I said,
Ah. I'm here. Pulling up now,


parking, as it were,
looking for something to eat,


to redeem.


The wind shook the seedpod
but the seedpod wasn't moved.


And though I thought I'd done
the damage I was born for,


there was still so much to step through,
so much to mar.


—Julie Carr

 

 


Julie Carr is a doctoral student at University of California, Berkeley. Her poems have recently appeared in Epoch, TriQuarterly, and Seneca Review.


Originally published in the April/May 2002 issue of Boston Review



Copyright Boston Review, 1993–2005. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without permission.

 | home | new democracy forum | fiction, film, poetry | archives | masthead | subscribe |