Abigail Carroll

POETRY: How To Prepare For The Second Coming by Abigail Carroll

May 16, 2018

Start by recalling the absolute goodness of rain and repent for every grumble you have ever made about the weather (this will take approximately forever.) Next, you will want to commit a theft: with deft lock-picking and a shrewd hand, steal back the hours you fed to the hungry god of work, then squander them on hydrangeas, Wordsworth, voluntary sidewalk repair. Teach a child to lace a shoe (your child or another’s—any four-year old will do), and while you’re at it, set the alarm for three, and fumble through the dark to the pond to guard the salamanders as they cross the road. If, having accomplished these tasks, you wish to go on, sit at your desk and carefully design a few radical acts of grace, by which I mean murder (of a sort): [...]

POETRY: Spring Forward by Abigail Carroll

March 29, 2017

The crocuses have nudged themselves up through the snow, have opened, never are opening, always daring, Ephemeral prophets, first of the sun’s spring projects, purple- throated chorus of will-have-beens— year after year, their oracles outlast them. Cold’s empire has not yet been undone, but the cardinals have begun to loudly declare its undoing, which is as good as the thing itself, as good as the gutters’ wild running, the spilling of rain down the tar-slick roof, the filling and pooling, the annual re-schooling of earth in the vernal properties of water. A bud both is and is not a flower: furled flag, curled-up tongue of summer, envelope of fire— What is this world but a seed of desire some dream-bent farmer sowed [...]

POETRY: Creed by Abigail Carroll

April 20, 2016

I believe in the life of the word, the diplomacy of food. I believe in salt-thick ancient seas and the absoluteness of blue. A poem is an ark, a suitcase in which to pack the universe—I believe in the universality of art, of human thirst for a place. I believe in Adam’s work of naming breath and weather—all manner of wind and stillness, humidity and heat. I believe in the audacity of light, the patience of cedars, the innocence of weeds. I believe in apologies, soliloquies, speaking in tongues; the underwater operas of whales, the secret prayer rituals of bees. As for miracles— the perfection of cells, the integrity of wings—I believe. Bones know the dust from which they come; all music spins through space on just a breath. I [...]

POETRY: Letter To Saint Francis by Abigail Carroll

February 17, 2016

When you broke with the world, you gave up jerkins and boots (Italian leather, no less), the title to your name. In light of your example, I hereby forsake (not wanting to duplicate) the paisley, polarized shades I have wanted to buy for some months (now on sale at Rite Aid), plans for a new voile spread and matching shams—you see, my room (unaltered in years), is begging for a complete re-do. In addition, I forthwith happily resign (and with only a little shame) my ignorance of bird songs, apathy toward insects, and above all else (no simple task) my solemn right to complain—about weather, fractures, vacuuming, (the Lord gives) or the sudden need for new axels, a change of plans, someone to love (the Lord takes away) I’d also [...]