If I become the kind
of woman who cans
things, I will can all
I am an apple orchard.
Or, I want to be.
I want to wear clothes the color
of farm animals:
a pink mohair sweater like a pig’s sweet snout,
boots the burnished chestnut of a favorite horse.
Then I’ll live with a blue sky
like a lapis ring & clouds like the drugs
we put up our noses. I want the mud
caked on the stairs & the fuchsia skin
blistered from milking the cow. I want the rag rug
warming the wooden floor.
I am a green meadow from a catalog.
I am the flowers, cropped.
I wash my own clothes on a rock.
*Click through to read a second poem, “New Domesticity,” from Carrie after the jump*
Stirring pitchers of sweet tea, smiling on porches
filled with guitars & barefoot people under a waning moon
but with candles scattered artfully so it’s bright enough to hum:
these fantasies are as artless as the means we’re willing to use
to make them real. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Wait,
it’s not supposed to. Is this thing a thing that happens to you
or a thing you make? The sticky-fingered toddlers,
house with a charmingly creaky step & a big office in the back,
filled with books. All these things.
The charming ringing in my head. Jolly haphazard bohemian
dream, no it’s a script, no it’s a dream, no matter
how much sugar I’ll want to add, no matter how many
cut rate rag dolls cast down by the hand of a child
who is not a thing, a baby who is not an ornament,
crickets rubbing & rubbing & rubbing in the blue
evenings, because that’s the way they sing.
About Carrie: Carrie Murphy is the author of the poetry collections FAT DAISIES (BigLucks, 2015) and *PRETTY TILT* (Keyhole Press, 2012). She received an MFA from New Mexico State University. Originally from Baltimore, MD, Carrie works as a freelance writer and doula in Albuquerque, NM, where she is a member of the Dirt City Writers Collective. You can find out more about Carrie’s work at her website.