Featured Poet: Audrey Carroll

Featured Poet: Audrey Carroll

Audrey T. Carroll is a born and raised Queens, NYC girl who has, in the past eight years, lived in Pennsylvania aAudrey T. Carrollnd Arkansas and has now returned to the east coast. Her obsessions include kittens, coffee, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the Rooster Teeth community. Her poetry and prose poetry often returns to identity narratives, with topics including mental illness, gender, queerness/bisexuality, spirituality as tied to nature, disability, and fibromyalgia.

She received her BA in Creative Writing from Susquehanna University, recently graduated with an MFA, and is pursuing her PhD at the University of Rhode Island. Her interest in literature especially lies in gender and queer studies. She has tQueen of Pentaclesaught both academic and creative writing at the university level. She lives in Rhode Island with her fiction writing husband and their two rescue cats.

Currently she has a fantasy novel on submission. Her goal is to publish regularly in fiction and poetry, with the occasional creative nonfiction essay and pop culture/gender critical piece. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Fiction International, The Fem, Feminine Inquiry, the A3 Review, and others.

Her first poetry collection, Queen of Pentacles, is available from Choose the Sword Press . She can be found at http://audreytcarrollwrites.weebly.com, http://www.facebook.com/AudreyTCarroll,
http://www.twitter.com/AudreyTCarroll.

 

Asunder
The hall of mirrors, gateway
not to the beyond
but to a beyond,
summer suns refracting
freckled faces of near-twins
choreographing dance routines
and learning to grow
distant.

False images tinted by memory,
bright and harsh, stinging,
for I am my brother’s keeper.

We thought we would always
be alike when conspiring
in shadows, languages only
we could decipher,
then only
he could decipher.

I am my brother’s keeper,
the one

who held
his hand at every
dining room table confession,

who hid every serrated blade
chosen, special, for carving
misunderstandings against veins,

who, in the crevice between
closet and dollhouse,
cast prayers with white ribbons
and snapshots, edges creased, all
toothless grins and wild scarlet
curls and quiet assurances:

We would not be those
who had come before us.

And here
we are. Silent
barriers of un-welcomeness
as clear as any candle I
light, praying (as it harm
none) for his
peace.

And here
we are. The calls
of ancestors beckoning
toward the same patterns,
toward the same implosion,
toward the same fractures
so easy to appease—

Just give in.


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