Jared Carter

Transition

The mirror she asked me to take
         to the attic
Was clouded, too far gone to make
         images slip
 
From its silver. I was halfway
         up the stairs when
I dropped it. The glass seemed to sway,
        to waver, then
 
Dissolve into fragments. Not light
         any longer,
But day falling fast into night,
         the far stronger.

Ötzi

After they had submerged him in
         various liquids
Until he thawed—after the thin
         clothing, the dribs
 
And drabs he carried, copper axe,
         chert knife, the way
He fell—all studied closely, facts
         gleaned—still he lay,
 
Unlikely witness to the spell
         of melting ice.
  I only am escaped to tell
         thee of the price.

Jared Carter’s most recent book of poems, The Land Itself, is from Monongahela Books in West Virginia. He lives in Indiana.