Poetry / Abbie Kiefer

From the writer

:: Account ::

The work of writ­ing insists on hav­ing my time and attention—sometimes in ways I wish it didn’t. Nec­es­sary domes­tic tasks are often pushed aside in favor of poem-mak­ing or get done begrudg­ing­ly and with impa­tience. I find that being in the mid­dle of a writ­ing project can make me impa­tient in my par­ent­ing, too. A short­com­ing, to be sure, but one that I try to be hon­est about and address.

This poem con­sid­ers the val­ue of mak­ing art and of mak­ing order and what we do with our ambi­tion to cre­ate. It’s also—for me, at least—about what it can mean to keep a house: in this case, to fold the per­pet­u­al heaps of laun­dry, but also to make the home a place where its peo­ple can learn and care for each oth­er and be frus­trat­ed and keep car­ing for each oth­er anyway.

Abbie Kiefer is the author of Cer­tain Shel­ter (June Road Press, 2024) and the chap­book Brief His­to­ries (Whit­tle Micro-Press, 2024). Her work is forth­com­ing or has appeared in The Cincin­nati Review, Cop­per Nick­el, Gulf Coast, The Mis­souri Review, Pleiades, Ploughshares, The South­ern Review, and oth­er places. She is on the staff of The Adroit Jour­nal and lives in New Hamp­shire. Find her online at abbiekieferpoet.com.