Raymond Carver - Erasured

I had not heard of Erasure poetry but that's what we at dversepoets.com are doing this week: erasing some of a well-known poem or other work by said will known author and creating yet another version of it which can set a different tone.  It almost feels like paraphrasing or stealing to me,  but I learned something about my own writing by doing this exercise.  Raymond Carver (1938 - 1988) was a local Pacific Northwest  writer, a favorite of mine.  Another short poem of his is "Your Dog Dies" if you are curious about him.  He is best known for his Collection of Short Stories and poems in "From Where I'm Calling From" and other books. 

Last Night with Fog and Horses   (my version)

In the living room saying their goodbyes, they put their arms around 

each other.  Full of passion and memory, each recalled each other's youth. 

They had been through a lot together, but could not take another step.

Someone else for him; tears falling.  A red emergency light flashed out 

of the fog, voices carried...at the end of that long night, the horses had 

cropped the grass.  A horse stepped out of the fog..and another..

she went outside and moved among them weeping, touching their flanks.  

They began to graze when he made two calls: one to the sheriff, 

"..the horses are out" and that other call, too. He joined his wife in the 

yard and they murmured to the horses together. (Was this really happening?) 

Something ended, something else rushing in.  "Goodbye, " she 

said, pulling away... loss ringing in their ears. Later, he remembered the 

disastrous phone call that hung on and on..and for the rest of his life,

it boiled down to one thing, a Malediction.

Late Night with Fog and Horses by Raymond Carver

They were in the living room. Saying their
goodbyes. Loss ringing in their ears.
They'd been through a lot together, but now
they couldn't go another step. Besides, for him
there was someone else. Tears were falling
when a horse stepped out of the fog
into the front yard. Then another, and
another. She went outside and said,
"Where did you come from, you sweet horses?"
and moved in amongst them, weeping,
touching their flanks. The horses began
to graze in the front yard.
He made two calls: one call went straight
to the sheriff - "someone's horses are out."
But there was that other call, too.
Then he joined his wife in the front
yard, where they talked and murmured
to the horses together. (Whatever was
happening now was happening in another time.)
Horses cropped the grass in the yard
that night. A red emergency light
flashed as a sedan crept in out of fog.
Voices carried out of the fog.
At the end of that long night,
when they finally put their arms around
each other, their embrace was full of
passion and memory. Each recalled
the other's youth. Now something had ended,
something else rushing in to take its place.
Came the moment of leave-taking itself.
"Goodbye, go on," she said.
And then pulling away.
Much later,
he remembered making a disastrous phone call.
One that had hung on and hung on,
a malediction. It's boiled down
to that. The rest of his life.
Malediction.