There is a flavor to some truths, not bitter, but something akin to it; not sweet exactly, but harboring underneath it a secret sweetness, that speaks to the kind of love that survives cruelty, or to the victory of simply drawing another breath. In this new collection, Mary Carroll-Hackett gives ink to some of the private truths, the little deaths, and the quiet triumphs.

We saw angels in the woods, or rather, one angel, burning white as a torch, me and Becky, one night in the patch of scrub pine that lined the trailer park, keeping us separate from the surrounding farms. We’d run too far through the fields, farther than allowed, out after dark, too far and too dark to hear Mama doing her come-home whistle from the rickety porch. We’d been chasing freedom, with the brave you know at seven and eight. And then, we were late, and lost, and alone, even together, having crossed more tobacco fields than we even knew could happen. The angel laughed, eight foot tall, and made a wall of white light through the trees, showing us the way home, saying, Free now, you are always free.

 

~ from “Trailer Park Triptych”