Poem: Raymond Carver’s Grave

Raymond Carver’s Grave

Drove four days to see his grave mirrored black,

Broken sky reflected under scuttled leaves,

Tides running against each other out to sea.

It’s just how I thought: the long view down

To the sound where summer water is calm.

 

I’m standing over the grave while he waits for his

Last true love to join him. She’s already prepared for

That day. Her stone, work for a carver years away.

How is it to be loved like that? Her stone waiting,

Waiting, as if no other love could command it.

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