Two Poems

by Carter Vance

Strawberries

When I asked you, how to
say freedom in a Persian
dialect from Qom,
you laughed:

“You have to taste the word,
in chalk, blood, bite marks,
rubber, gas,

let it drip down, sweet fruit,
and find its place with you,

see how it feels in the back
of big yellow taxis,

in front of star patterns
in shattered glass.”

I took a rosebud from
the counter case, studied in light,

how feel to run out
with dynamite sticks and megaphones,

break car windows, slash tires,
pour sugar down drainpipes,

give gotten candy to onlooking children.

You said it was the same as
strawberries

Whether I liked them or not.

Wallpaper (Blue)

In Stockholm, ’67, I left
you on the train platform,
going East, falling away,
from lives we had known
bound us to windowpanes,
flower boxes on porch;

You knew of the daylight
nightmares, curious figments
that crossed my eyes:
the fire rains, blood stains,
aftershocks on hard concrete,
I never forgot despite curiosity

getting a better part
of the film reels in mind,
marked up on acid paper,
burning through dawn.

I was stuck, breathless
to the four poster points
in this room where days pass
silent, forlorn, ignorant of
all beyond:

the bombs, the Belsens,
tragic cells for what remained
of ourselves in honour, once
smoke had cleared from
building ash.

You had pinned me, plastered up
to dry and crack, curl at corners,
go jaundice in summer sun.

And there I was remaining,
until a first step forward,
a last gasp of city air.

BIO: Carter Vance is a writer and poet originally from Cobourg, Ontario, Canada currently resident in Gatineau, Quebec, Canada. His work has appeared in such publications as The Smart Set, Contemporary Verse 2 and A Midwestern Review, amongst others. His debut novel, Smaller Animals, will be released in November 2025.