About this poet

Ander Monson is the author of The Available World: Poems (Sarabande Books, 2010).

Saw You There

Ander Monson
"Carrie says I should make my connections into a poem." —Dennis Etzel Jr.
Sawed you there, through you there, girl whom I name
Carrie, shine of sun on bonnet-handle at that Walgreens 
on 28th. A Friday night. It looked like you came straight
from fighting something that looked like lightning.

You were all scorched up. Tired look but with a residue
of glow, not in the family way, as they used to say, 
and as I still do, since I venerate the old, but filled 
to the heart with stars. Looking light years away, the way

you operated that Redbox: how can a girl seem so far 
from Earth while at a Redbox? I was the girl in the super-
looking supermarket hat, with ashen face and hair of flax,
heart of gold and such. You didn't see me staring, not seeing

much of anything. Magician seeking magician's assistant, 
my craigslist ad would say: I will saw through you any day.

Copyright © 2012 by Ander Monson. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2012 by Ander Monson. Used with permission of the author.

Ander Monson

Ander Monson is the author of The Available World: Poems (Sarabande Books, 2010).

by this poet

poem
It covers everything, a glossy January rind
along tires. Sunny days have brought it out,
burned away the ice, left 
the calcified tidelines to gloat
on the hoods and sun-warm trunks 
of cars queued up along the curb,
parking close as they can get
to each other, to the raised 
sidewalk that’s buried
beneath the
poem
Now I know that everything is a body, 
so even the snow and the sand and 
the blood rivered down in the snow, 
and snowed on again so it's buried
is a body. All things are bodies in photos—
detail of the left side of a breast and the arm's
pit—detail of the sled slumbered under 
by the storm's leavings. Detail