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.