What The Doctor Said

He said it doesn't look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
I said I'm glad I wouldn't want to know
about any more being there than that
he said are you a religious man do you kneel down
in forest groves and let yourself ask for help
when you come to a waterfall
mist blowing against your face and arms
do you stop and ask for understanding at those moments
I said not yet but I intend to start today
he said I'm real sorry he said
I wish I had some other kind of news to give you
I said Amen and he said something else
I didn't catch and not knowing what else to do
and not wanting him to have to repeat it
and me to have to fully digest it
I just looked at him
for a minute and he looked back it was then
I jumped up and shook hands with this man who'd just given me
something no one else on earth had ever given me
I may have even thanked him habit being so strong

Picture by Bonnie Schiffman

Raymond Carver

This Morning

This morning was something.
A little snow

lay on the ground.

The sun floated in a clear blue sky.
The sea was blue, and blue-green,

as far as the eye could see.

Scarcely a ripple.
Calm.
I dressed and went

for a walk -- determined not to return

until I took in what Nature had to offer.

I passed close to some old, bent-over trees.

Crossed a field strewn with rocks

where snow had drifted.
Kept going

until I reached the bluff.

Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and

the gulls wheeling over the white beach

far below.
All lovely.
All bathed in a pure

cold light.
But, as usual, my thoughts

began to wander.
I had to will

myself to see what I was seeing

and nothing else.
I had to tell myself this is what

mattered, not the other.
(And I did see it,

for a minute or two!) For a minute or two

it crowded out the usual musings on

what was right, and what was wrong -- duty,

tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat

with my former wife.
All the things

I hoped would go away this morning.

The stuff I live with every day.
What

I've trampled on in order to stay alive.

But for a minute or two I did forget

myself and everything else.
I know I did.

For when I turned back i didn't know

where I was.
Until some birds rose up

from the gnarled trees.
And flew

in the direction I needed to be going.

Raymond Carver 

For Tess

Out on the Strait the water is whitecapping
as they say here. It's rough, and I'm glad
I'm not out there. Glad I fished all day
on Morse Creek, casting a red Daredevil back
and forth. I didn't catch anything. No bites
even, not one. But it was okay. It was fine!
I carried your dad's pocketknife and was followed
for a while by a dog its owner called "Dixie."
At times I felt so happy I had to quit
fishing. Once I lay on the bank with my eyes closed,
listening to the sound the water made,
and to the wind in the tops of the trees. The same wind
that blows out on the Strait, but a different wind, too.
For a while I even let myself imagine I had died -
and that was all right, at least for a couple
of minutes, until it really sank in: Dead.
As I was lying there with my eyes closed,
just after I'd imagined what it might be like
if in fact I never got up again, I thought of you.
I opened my eyes then and got right up
and went back to being happy again.
I'm grateful to you, you see. I wanted to tell you.

Tess Gallager and Raymond Carver

Raymond Carver