This one’s for you, Kid

Your Dog Dies
Raymond Carver

it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you’re almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you’d never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you’re writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.

I’m sorry, rollerfink. Kid was the best. He’s with Corey Haim (Rambo’s Little Brother!) now.

A sudden weighty presence

There are days you just don’t feel like talking, and today is a day like that for me, but it’s also the day that everyone is posting about Dzanc’s Best of the Web 2010, so I will say that when I got mine, I thought, “this is heavy!” which I liked, and then I opened it up to read a story at random, and read Amelia Gray‘s Cube, about an obelisk discovered by picnicking families at a park. I was impressed and taken by the story’s grace, intelligence, and humor as the group struggled to cope with the monolith’s sudden, weighty presence in their world, and when I was finished I thought, “Okay, that was one random piece of literature out of what, 95?” and have been taking it to bed with me ever since.

You with your eye switchers

Rebecca Loudon is at Everyday Genius, and boy is she ever. Genius, I mean. These poems are pounding and terrible  and good.

Otherwise, I guess Eyeshot was gone, and now it’s back

and

Tin House is badly misunderstood.

A dollar ninety-nine

Ana Carrete

Ana Carrete has collages! They are freaky and good and weird, uniquely creative and profound. I love the color and composition of the one above, and another, titled kitty-cat-lady has a slight Dargerish vibe (plus genius, minus creepiness) that appeals. Anyway, I just love Ana C. There’s always something with that girl.

For Independence Day, and The Best American Poetry, Reb Livingston presents Rebecca Loudon‘s poem, What I didn’t say when the gasworks shook their iron tails in my direction, and makes my soul feel like a drum.

There are two fans facing each other across this room, each on a pile of books. They are competing, but I like them both the same, and couldn’t do without either. It’s the billowing curtain between that I really love.