Poetry by Carson Sawyer

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A Young Man’s Poem

I have met salvation
In the lips that leech
To the bottle of bourbon,
And the lines of Coke
Stretched neat and thin,
Like scars, on the soft,
Milk-white bellies of “babes.”

I have met the days apart,
At half-past twelve,
With a cold shower
That knocks my breath away,
Like the blows from bastards
That had reasons for violence.

I have met the night, drunk,
A prick, looking for fights
From the only love I was given.
And when they wouldn’t grant me
That misplaced penance,
I turned to a tattooed confessional.

I have met my mother’s eyes
Through the glass, weeping.


Beats Between Breath

I squeeze between the beats of breath
That lull me into the memory I once could touch.

It is in this shrine that I send prayers, as silent
As smoke signals, to you who has grown

From my real embrace. I pray
That from the shores of my dreams

I may meet you incarnate.
But, for now, all I have

Is the foam of an ocean
That knows no tide.


Yellow Bird

You’re the Yellow Bird that I’ve been waiting for. -Conor Oberst

I can feel the feathers flutter
In the inhale and exhale

Of lungs that held the breath
You once breathed.

But the cartilage compressed
Between bone, let loose

All memory of you. The years incarnate
Have flown away on your back.

This flutter is all I have,
All to send me to the edge of my canyons–

Like the drops of dew flying
From the tips of your wings.


img_2078Carson Sawyer is a poet living in Omaha, Nebraska. His work has appeared in Common Ground Review and Inklette. He is a graduate of the University of Iowa’s Young Writer’s Workshop.

You can contact Carson at csawyer009@gmail.com.

 

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