I haven’t given up on trying to live a good life,
a really good one even, sitting in the kitchen
in Kentucky, imagining how agreeable I’ll be –
the advance of fulfillment, and of desire –
all these needs met, then unmet again.
When I was a kid, I was excited about carrots,
their spidery neon tops in the garden’s plot.
And so I ripped them all out. I broke the new roots
and carried them, like a prize, to my father
who scolded me, rightly, for killing his whole crop.
I loved them: my own bright dead things.
I’m thirty-five and remember all that I’ve done wrong.
Yesterday I was nice, but in truth I resented
the contentment of the field. Why must we practice
this surrender? What I mean is: there are days
I still want to kill the carrots because I can.
“I Remember the Carrots” by Ada Limón, from Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón (Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2015). Copyright © 2015 by Ada Limón.
Bright Dead Things is one of my favorite poetry collections. If you’ve not yet read it, I highly recommend it; looks like today the Kindle version is on sale for $6.91 in the States. (Amazon Link). For further reading, check out these two interviews Ada gave with The Rumpus Poetry Book Club and with Nicole Sealey of National Book Foundation. What follows are selections from that latter interview:
Nicole Sealey: How’d you come to name the collection Bright Dead Things?
Ada Limón: I struggled with the title at first, but when I landed on that phrase, in the poem “I Remember the Carrots,” I knew it was what I wanted. I wanted the title to point to both the living and the dying we’re all doing. The struggle between what destroys us and what keeps us going is something very real to me and real to my work. Additionally, I loved the idea that the poems in the book could be seen as bright dead things themselves—things that are the remnants of the original burst.
I wanted to write the poems I needed to write. Oh, and yes, I’m scared of so many things, aren’t you? I am reminded of that wonderful quote from Georgia O’Keefe: “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life—and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do.” That basically defines my life. I keep moving forward despite the sharks, the bears, the violence, the accidents, the wind, the sinkholes, the crocodiles, the rattlesnakes, the silence, the rage, the big empty, all of that. I keep moving forward because someday we won’t be here and I don’t want miss anything.
I’m scared to not appreciate this moment and the people around me. This might sound simple, but I want to be a good person and I want to live to the fullest while I’m here. I’m all right with missing things (I can be a bit of a recluse), but I want to be grateful for what I have and show gratitude to those around me. I think my biggest fear is not living up to this life I’ve been given.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if the world would just sort of pat you on the head like a dog and say, “Good job, you’ve tried really hard.” There is so much to love and wrestle with in this world and I know I’ll keep making mistakes and falling down and getting back up, but I suppose if I can do right by people and keep my head above water during the biggest tidal waves, I’ll be one extremely lucky girl.
And remember we’re all in this together
If I live the life I’m given, I won’t be scared to die
“The Once and Future Carpenter” by the Avett Brothers from The Carpenter
2 thoughts on ““I Remember the Carrots” by Ada Limón”
I missed your other Ada Limon postings. I just looked at the other two poems listed on the bottom of this particular post. I had missed them when you first posted them. People close to me were busy dying then.
Anyway, I’m going to go look for Bright Dead Things because I LOVE her voice. Thank you! xoxo
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I’ve been trying to think of the right words to say, Mary, but everything has just sounded … wrong. I guess it comes down to, I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry death has been stealing your loved ones. Seems there’s been too much death lately, too much pain.
You’ll enjoy Ada’s book. You really will. And Mary Oliver has a new anthology of selected poems out now. You’d like it too.
“Sometimes I wish” by Guy Davis
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