Author Archives: Carol Krause

About Carol Krause

Carol Krause is a poet who has gone from law-school graduate to disability recipient. This does not make her story a tragedy. Carol was recently accepted for publication in The /tƐmz/ Review, Open Minds Quarterly, Dreamers Magazine and filling Station. A lover of the underworld, Carol feels most alive when crawling through caves.

the end of the world (three poems)

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fault lines

i shake my fists at the imaginary monster living in the sky and i hurl a list of insults and complaints into his beady eyes i tell myself it’s his fault that the world is getting hotter and species are going extinct and there’s plastic in the ocean i write a letter and mark it urgent outlining every reason why he has ruined our chances of survival he rolls over on his side and i can see his scaly back and he is content to ignore my righteous manifesto and i tell myself it’s not my fault i don’t have blood on my hands and really this whole situation is beyond my control and the monster gets up he seems almost amused and i wait for him to reveal his grand schemy plan but his pad of paper is just filled with scribbles and i ask him why he has to be so cruel and he points to my bold circular lines and begs please get me out of this game

The Plant in the Disability Office

The plant that was sitting on the desk beside the woman who was sitting in the chair was starting to fall over. I entered the disability support office to hand in the piece of paper that says I have not worked in the last thirty days. The light in the office is like a giant refrigerator humming with claws. I ask the worker to make a copy of the sheet of paper and I stare at the plant which is falling over. Someone must have thought a little green would do the office good but the plant wasn’t so sure. There was no sunlight in the office and there was no rain. I wanted to ask the plant what it was like growing towards one side inside of a government building. But the plant and I—we pretended we did not know each other. And I stared at the faces of people who needed money just like me and wondered if they also noticed that the plant was dying. The woman behind the counter passed me my copies and I smiled at the plant. We nodded in agreement that this is what happens to life around here. I wanted to return the plant to an imaginary garden planted outside the government building but there was no garden. Only cement and steel. I wanted to say I am on the side of the plants. But this building was built to feed me. And I have concrete in my throat. And as I walked out of the building I felt my head tilt to one side and my eyes start to droop. But I’d been given food to eat. So I do not eat the plant.

the end of the world

when the end of the world comes and all of existence explodes into a ball of heat what will happen to me? i sense fear crawl up my spine and i wonder when the end of the world comes who will be the next elite? i try to be optimistic realistic and discount the language of experts call science the new religion but i’m still wondering when the end of the world comes what will happen to people like me who live with a disability and rely on the system? i try not to be selfish because it breaks my heart the planet is dying and i often prefer trees to humans but i can’t help but wonder when the mountains collapse and the icicles rise to the sky and the forests become a giant circle of fire what will happen to me? i don’t need much just a little apartment with my cat and my computer but what will i have to offer if the world goes to war from scarcity and i can barely make it down the block without being torn apart? i try not to think of the end of the world try to be realistic optimistic tell myself i also have support from family and try to focus on the present breathe in breathe out but the truth is i feel so small in the face of impending catastrophe i don’t want to be selfish as i rise to the microphone with my one final question for people in power but i have to ask if the end of the world comes what will happen to people like me?

Photo of felt suit by Marjolein Dallinga

Les Chaises by Marjolein Dallinga (felted wearable art)