Apartment Poetry Quarterly

7A              7B              7C              7D              7E              7F


7E Emily Carr




Act 5


so much/                          for the love of the hunt



in which to be human is dangerous


LAZARUS’ death is theatrical I am tempted to say even iambic.

Everyone rises to the occasion.

No Bird puts on a shabby suit, la Belle invites the darkness to take a seat, &

for the next three days I stop
paying attention. It is their grief, not mine. Their suffering

seems holy I cant imagine it.




BUT this moment of clarity lasts no more than
twenty seconds. Achilles, puzzled that a man
                       would die so easily, turns &
runs. The soft breeze around him hums, I think





ITS so hot even the birds have stopped
talking. You’ve been
there. I loved

you so much once la Belle
says. I did. Can you/
believe it.
We were so intimate. Once

upon a time I cant/ believe
it now




forest, or a started psalm,
with deer love changes
hands white light cancels
the landscape.

Lazarus doesnt get
the phone. He doesnt/                                                get it.

& when No
Bird says did we stop
understanding we
have named things
what they do, &
how did we forget so

Under the unforgivable
moon there
is: a little anger
growing inside the




ITS la Belle’s birthday & against the overly
& desperate understory she is bending
                         parallel lines to make the ends

I have she says become reconciled.
                         I know Achilles says
            you’re hurting I know a lot/            of




LAZARUS was gone of course but there
was something else, something worse.

The earth muttering to herself, the universe in
its empty bowl, a deer committing suicide the
way you would expect it to...


You dont No Bird says
have to want every piece of                                   is that
it. Why/ so hard?

(The white peacock spreads his
fan.) (Achilles wishes for a sense
of theater.) (Some water flows
up/ hill.) (Lazarus makes a few
green manoeuvers.) (La Belle
draws flowers or Millet’s bear or
a fawn rippt apart by lions.) (So
careful youd think she was
merciful.) (She was already a
person.) He

could never afford to see that.




walks on his head &
sees the sky
below, as an abyss

He is paying attention
only to
himself half-ruined
& not, you

know, a
complete blank it
seems ungrateful he
says why

pull it to pieces




                        THE extravagant sun props its elbows
on a dream with traitors in the blueberries & lovers
who dont

                                    know what they want. Posed in a
                                                white dress on her side la Belle
                                                reads it
             like a fish, in two directions at once she leaves
             nothing to chance she is young, &
             someone has packed her with dead
             people to make it seem/                  less empty




WHAT you cant remember
(almost everything—

IT is not enough.

It is never enough.

It seemed to Achilles then.

It seems to Achilles now,
riding in an automobile,
an incomprehensible heartbeat

                       on this Beckett
   afternoon with all the world
   tilting winterward
                                 & only one
window rolled down but it doesnt
matter because its raining





                                                               THE trees dont move, or the

                                                   La Belle is drinking fine à l’eau &
                                                                    avoiding the disadvantage of
                                                                    not knowing
how drunk she is.
Some things No Bird says cant
be seen until they are drawn what looks
for example like Jacob's ladder

is probably the North Star.
In the distance the sun sets between a
gate of swords. An egg slides down
the galaxy.

That Lazarus says is the least of your problems.

(I have news for you.)
(When the stars rolled
out of their skins & died.)

(Barefoot in a fur coat talking to
someone on the telephone.)


La Belle talks a lot about
love in the end. I guess we
all will.