Fire

I've picked up "Fires" by Raymond Carver from the library. His writing is hard to describe. I'm not sure if I prefer his poems to his short stories. Sometimes his stories have the rhythm of poetry.
Anyway, I came across this poem that made me smile.


YOUR DOG DIES

it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
beacuase it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and you heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.