What I like about Ray is

the way he notices the little

things that don’t count toward

the business end of the day:

peeled paint, mossy shingles, pine

needles & cones, the freshly dug hole

& mound of dirt beside the garage —

shovel leaned against the fence.


What I like about a Carver poem

is it reminds me of smoked salmon & blue

cheese, Guinness beer; walking the alley

after dark & running into deer; the way

a patch of snow becomes water dripping

from my nose & eyes, cold burning

like a blister on the palm of my hand;

my wife’s raven hair tossed by March wind.


What I like most about the poet

is his attention to moments

lived & buried; to necessary tasks;

to questions that question the answers . . .

no one else will ask. What I like

about Carver is the way he focuses

on pulsing blood & breath — on waking

& walking through the day: ordering


hunger into words savored long after dark.


in memory of Raymond Carver

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