"This work is unlike any other, in its range of rich, conjuring imagery and its dexterity, its smart voice. Carroll-Hackett doesn’t spare us—but doesn’t save us—she draws a blueprint of power and class with her unflinching pivot: matter-of-fact and tender." —Jan Beatty

Posts tagged ‘Nicolette Wong’

If We Could Know Our Bones <3 Throwing Back to a Older Poem

Feeling the need to share the title poem from my 2013 book, If We Could Know Our Bones–if we saw how much we’re alike, could we be kinder?

If We Could Know Our Bones

But if you do not know yourselves, then you live in poverty.~Gospel of Thomas

If we could know our bones the way we know our skin, perhaps we’d not dig graves, but build rooms, havens, shrines, for even our enemies, their bodies rescued from the ditch and battlefield, no longer pitched into holes, safe and out of sight, but standing, eloquent and equal in their lines: tines of rib, cradle of skull, clavicle like a little key, memories of movement in femur and fluted tibia, their jaws, hinged and singing, angel light pouring through the basin of each pelvis. Free of water, fat and muscle, perhaps they’d claim us, tell us of sharing even what can’t be known–Os innominatum– those nameless bones.

-Mary Carroll-Hackett, 2013

cell division

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Solstice Prompt <3 Memories of Lovers and the Body as Grace

20 June 2016

Here’s a solstice poem I wrote a few years ago, memory of a solstice back when I was a girl of eighteen, enchanted with a beautiful boy 🙂

This poem appears in my book If We Could Know Our Bones, from A-Minor Press


Remembering the Body as Grace

We all live in a house on fire. Tennessee Williams


I dream back the hot slow sky your body was above me, goldleafed and dappled in early sun, in those running heated days of baggy shorts, thin shoulder straps, loosed barefoot in the woods, where the world wore the soft warm pelts we tumbled in, skins multicolored scarfs we slid out of, slid into, each other. We were hungering home.


I wore some long breezy skirt, thinking Stevie Nicks would approve; in those days music made our maps, At a party to honor the March stars, I sat in your lap on Alan’s floor, after too much tequila, naming fish, aquarium after aquarium lining old apartment walls. Outside, a vernal moon split the day in two perfect halves, calling the first point of my Aries into startling alignment with your laugh.


Thirty-one suns have crossed the celestial equator since then, science and memory rearranging, the Earth’s elliptical orbit, bending, changing, precession, axis tugged in another direction. Spring even now is being reduced by one minute per year, singing as it goes. Naked to the native acre, bone-clear, the body knows what it knows.


Age has freed us from any need to hide, that sweet surrender of knowing celestial objects near the celestial equator are visible worldwide.


Assuming the body as love, my body remembers—you sleepy-eyed and unshaven, hair long, lit by light breaking into that space, where we tangled like sweet-sweating animals. What we didn’t know then, spring sliding home into summer, we do now, having worn these faces, lived in these skins, long enough to comprehend gravity as grace.


Make art about a solstice memory, about the body as grace.

Special Tuesday Call for Submissions: A-Minor Magazine

Special Tuesday Call for Submissions

from the fabulous editors who brought out my book If We Could Know Our Bones

A-MINOR Magazine: Stories in the Chord of Am

Reading submissions for the September issue of A-Minor Magazine! Send your prose, poetry or artwork. Spread the word!

Editor Nicolette Wong says, “p.s. we have more room in the prose/fiction house at the moment.”


We’re now reading submissions for our next September 2015 issue.

Please submit in ONE category only. Prose and poetry should be pasted in the body of the email. If your poems require special formatting, you may send an attachment.

Simultaneous submissions are fine. Include a 50-word, third person bio. Longer bio will be subject to editing. Send your work to aminormagazine@gmail.com

Short Fiction/Prose: 1000 to 4000 words. One story/prose piece only.

Flash Fiction/Prose: 100 to 1000 words apiece. One to three pieces.

Poetry: Three to Five poems. Prose poetry and hybrid form welcome.

For fiction/prose, we are partial to surrealist, experimental and quirky writing. For poetry, we lean toward the lyrical, eccentric, ambivalent and wildly imaginative.

Art/Text: One to three flash prose pieces or poems, based on or paired with artwork by the writer or a visual artist.

Artwork: Two to five pieces of visual poetry, asemic writing or other post-literate variety. Preferences will be given to images that work as a series. Collaborations are welcome.

Prose and poetry must be entirely unpublished. Artwork may be previously posted on the artist’s web site or blog.

Please check out the list of selected back issues and features to get a sense of our editorial drift.

If your work has been featured in A-Minor, please wait at least six months before submitting again.

If your submission has been declined, please wait at least one month before submitting again.

A-Minor requires First North American Serial Rights and all archival rights. All rights revert back to the author upon publication. If your work appears elsewhere in print or online, please give due credit to A-Minor.

Send all questions to aminormagazine@gmail.com

Check out A-Minor Magazine’s Fifth Anniversary Issue here:


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