(For Raymond Carver,
after reading “Fear”)
I read that poem you wrote
about fear.
Thought about it a while
and read it again.
Took my time.
It resonated with me
in more ways than one.
You know, I’m scared too.
Dammit, Ray, I’ve got fear
of wasting time, allowing guilt
to chase me for all
this impermanent life,
of dereliction dragging
my relationships
down the gutter,
of never marrying,
of marrying wrong,
of never raising children,
of raising children poorly,
and fear of death, too.
I know you’ve said that.
But I’ll say it again
and again.
Mouth Thorn 