The Story of Anders

— Joseph P. Carter

As Anders sat, he could do no more waiting.

 

The ample blue called to him
under the auspices of his long armed friends.
Remnants of the divine come bearing gifts.
Anders is presenced; they present.
The world is named thus—parousia.
Serenaded by company, sinews and all.
The parades, joining and jubilating,
with such fecundity, matchless in dress and victuals.
As they gather ‘round, the landscapes saturate.

 

Anders was to meet his desired today.

 

But she is not herself.
Such golden rings of completeness,
leaving nothing out, standing.
Minerva herself is forgotten.
Upon the pyre, she unwittingly an offering;
there are no knells to sound,
Only flesh without the affect;
an extensionless edifice.
Wedding gowns have this uncanny diligence
to ward off the hope for being seen.
Anders loved to hold her hand;
her peachy soft skin quenched his desire for her.
Today, she glimmered in his eyes;
today, she was vapor.

 

They bought a house together,
But their bedroom was devouring.
Their children ran rampant through the meadows.
But for Anders, he could never see their faces.
Today, he could never leave his home.

Every place, filled to the brim.
The home is now nothing but fixtures,
fixations bent upon fixating.
There is no more room;
only plenty of space.
Anders is, again, presenced.
Presenced in a quandary,
a gift given, poison that it is.

As Anders stood, he only waited for more waiting.

 

He will finally meet his love tomorrow.
The depths of the Earth will place her there.
The granite epitaphs will write to him,
they are the doorkeepers of the Everlasting.
Tomorrow, he will leave his home looking for her;
tomorrow, she will give him light to find his way.

 

In the one who comes between,
enframing his uncanny diligence,
Anders will finally see himself.
In love, she will have given him his name.

 


 

 

Joseph P. Carter struggles to find ways to articulate the plenitude around him—the everyday. It is as Rilke so resolutely admonishes his young friend, “If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself.” He lives in Athens, Georgia.