It begins simply with words:
You are no good, fully to blame. Stupid
sucker. Time you learned about the real world.
Your intentions once seemed honorable.
You grow the longest ears. The points
stretch above opaque heights toward eternal
condemnation and still you do not understand
the reason. You might redirect the thunder
to outer space. The demeaning shapes
of his words whip through your mind
like lightning splits a tree apart, leaving
a gutted stump an old man chips at
with a sharp hatchet. No one else would know
what to do with it. He carves a curvy
bowl that contains your emptiness.
Inside this hollow you understand why
it doesn’t matter what anyone
thinks of you.
Carrie Albert is a multifaceted artist and poet. Her works have been published or upcoming in many diverse journals, some with curious names including: cahoodaloodaling, FishFood, Weird Sisters, Sheila-Na-Gig and Penhead Press (where she is a permanent fixture as Poet-Artist in Residence). She lives in Seattle with her poodles, rabbits, pigs, deer and an elephant (her farm of papier-mâché projects).