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After Rain
A book of poems.
After Rain is a meditation on love, marriage, isolation, pregnancy, and motherhood. Full of revelation, reverence and revelry, these poems carry us through portals to reveal the stark beauty of life. With a keen sense of paradox and wonder, Carolyn Hunter’s poetry explores the verdant understory of our lives.
Set in the Rocky Mountains, After Rain is a portrait of a woman repairing her marriage in pandemic times, entering the wide berth of motherhood and tending the tender shoots of a new family. Hunter lets us peer over the sill of her marriage to witness its disappointments and enchantments. There are stories of longing for her ancestral roots in Ireland and her aching desire for sovereignty. She opens our eyes to the beauty of wild places and the wildernesses within.
With rich illustrations by artist Jessica Bernstein, After Rain is a moonbeam to light up the dark thresholds we all cross in the ongoing journey of becoming ourselves.
PRAISE FOR AFTER RAIN
“Breathless and breath-filled at once, this book somehow contains it all. Alongside Hunter, I met my ex-lovers. I strung up my dreams with the stars. I welcomed new life. I wept. Afterward, I felt reborn.”
– T. S. Wolff, All Things Sane
"Sensuous and shimmering, Carolyn Hunter's incandescent poetry collection on motherhood and meaning-making teems with life. A cherished read for anyone in the process of becoming."
– Kate Weiner, Loam
Carolyn's exquisite poetry in 'After Rain' touches the soul with its exploration of life's most intimate moments. Her words paint a vivid tapestry of human experience, from the raw emotions of motherhood to the quiet beauty of nature. Carolyn is a soul sister of the ages.
– Jane Finette, Unlocked
“Blueberries and creme brûlée. Canyons and ponderosa pines. A mother's loneliness and the scent of burning sage. To read Hunter’s transcendent collection is to taste life twice. After Rain is a must-read.”
– MotherElm
Norman Rockwell
Do you remember when we were staying in that cabin in Evergreen with my family over Christmas and we were put in the kids room with the wooden bunk beds and red flannel sheets and you answered to me in both realms?
In the deep black of the night I had that horrible nightmare where I was being chased and I called out to you in my dream, over and over and over again.
But remember? I didn’t realize that I was calling out to you in that little room as well.
It was the wildest thing.
In the portals of my mind you were running to me, and right there in the middle of the small room you crawled down into my bunk and held me the rest of the night.
I’ll never forget how your arms and legs were hanging off that bed in every direction while you snored and I smiled and held you closer.
Sometimes you are a damn Norman Rockwell, and maybe it’s just for me to remember.