Carrie Kahler

300.00: Anxiety State, Unspecified

If the blue sky
were to mushroom brown,
another songbird species
to go extinct,
tulips to be eaten by rats
in winter, if the innocent die?
What if: arsenic placed
in the water supply? What if
on a path in the park under
overhanging trees a boy
of three is taken away?
If all trees die
each year? What if a cat
(to whom your fiancé
is violently allergic) sits
on the steps of the altar
while taking your vows
and instead of “I do” he sneezes?
Most marriages are doomed.
What would happen—
I swerve just a foot just
to this wall—
if you were to love me—
if the guilty go free—
if mountains were to throw
themselves into seas
and starfish to frolic
on skyscraper windows—
What if I could not swim
and you could not swim
and our children—

Then would we walk on water?


Carrie Purcell Kahler’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Apogee, Thimble, Bellevue Literary Review, Image, Denver Quarterly, Poetry Northwest, HAD, and others. She received an MFA in creative writing from the University of Washington and lives in Seattle with her cat. Find her online at carriepurcellkahler.com & @emynarnon.bsky.social.