Karen Carter

Karen Carter is a poet, writer, and educator. With a B.A., M.Div. and PhD, she has taught at all levels of learning and presently teaches high school English and Creative Writing. Many poems in her debut collection, Deep Dive, (Querencia Press 2024), a memoir in poetry about healing from trauma, have appeared previously in anthologies and literary journals, including The Write Launch. She lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. For more information, visit www.KarenCarterPoetry.com.

“Neglect for the Birds,” “Birds on a Wire,” and “Curtain Call”

My hanging basket of geraniums dies
on my front porch, soil in a pot
surrounded by three sides of bricks.
I leave for work, come home every day,
thinking I should clean this thing out,
put something new in its place.

“When fear rises,” “What counts,” and “A Forecast of Severe Storms Today”

I’m driving through a fog.
Home to public school, I
travel up and down hills,
the 45-mile-stretch
like an obstacle course
to test resolve.

I need this cloudy patch,
not as a puffy mattress,
but as an iron shield

“Teacher Poet: Advice Upon Visiting Her Classroom,” “Back to the Roots” and “Sunrise”

Framed diploma and teacher’s license,
taped on the institutional wall,
these credentials face the stars.
The star-struck welcome board posts a message:
Practice safety.
But will these stars fade, fall into the waste basket?

“November Cloak,” “Between Being and Doing” and “Toilet Talk”

Auntie Jane’s blanket,
attic stored, air cloved,
with her knitted cable yarn
she hums a morning tune.