Noodling, and: Appeler

Noodling

so what, i stuck my hand, strumming in the water hole, a thicket where a fish might rest. so what, i wanted to wake

one, set its whiskers to combing through roots after the glow- motion of my pale fingers, palm. “guts for guts” was

the phrase that ran like a sure creek through my mind. so what, i can’t admit

an ancestry? i’d never wanted

a fish so bad, but it was, was my only sustenance. it was going to be the first real flinch of my wrist.

Appeler

I.

the young French boy I spend my French days with calls me things:

—madame ordinateur      —madame derrière moi

I call him things, too: —monsieur iPad      —mon petit

II.

peanut butter      —mon ami, to which he laughs.

I say        —je to tell him I represent me,

and our days grow in pauses I call dans quinze

minutes, ones taking the weight of eternities.

I call myself        —Carrie and it’s not just the r’s

that make me gag on my own name.

III.

Here, it is homonymous with a tooth

cavity. I call the young French boy

—lui —tu

I prefer him in a syllable. Not with his given:

—Auguste. His name recalls impossible

months. In his house, I call for him, and he does not come

to sit, rising in his chair. He does not answer my call

IV.

as I implore him, faistes devoirs.      — Ça va rien dire

is what he calls my speech. We approach silence, our names

discordant, yet he, Auguste, I know to be my first emperor,

V.

and in this place comme d’habitude, just like

all other places, I behold our defiance. I call my actions:

—je reste ici meaning not so much

I am staying here as I have nowhere else to go.