Marci Rae Johnson teaches English at Purdue University North Central. She is also the poetry editor for Word-Farm press. Her poems appear in The Collagist, Quiddity, Hobart, Redivider, Redactions, The Valparaiso Poetry Review, The Louisville Review and 32 Poems, among others. Her first collection of poetry,The Eyes the Window, won the Powder Horn Prize and was published by Sage Hill Press in 2013, and her poetry chapbook won the Friends of Poetry chapbook contest for Michigan authors in 2014 and was published by Celery City Chapbooks.

Books by Marci Rae Johnson:

Other poems on the web by Marci Rae Johnson:
"The Seven Days"
Five poems
Three poems
"William Blake Contemplates Enlightenment"

Marci Rae Johnson's Blog.

Marci Rae Johnson on Twitter.

About Basic Disaster Supplies Kit:

"What's most shocking about this collection isn't Marci Rae Johnson's flip and lippy bedfellowing with world dictators and anemic communist manifestors--nor even her heretical takedown of our most beloved and saintly Mister Rogers (in the opening poem, no less!). What's truly arresting in these poems is her reverential treatment of deeply spiritual matter--and the tension that these opposing forces create. In other words, she renders unto Caesar what's his, and to God, what's God's. It's a book unlike any I've seen."
—Jill Alexander Essbaum

"Nowhere else but in Marci Rae Johnson's Basic Disaster Supplies Kit, could the likes of Winston Churchill, Oprah, Karl Marx, Jesus, and Emily Dickenson intermingle with the latest unbelievable stories from BuzzFeed, Cracked, and beyond. This collection transitions from uproarious hilarity to poignant contemplation and back again, ultimately leaving the reader aware of human frailty and the questionable state of the universe. Replete with astonishment and wit, Johnson's Basic Disaster Supplies Kit delivers one revelation after the next."
—Mary Biddinger

"Hovering over and shooting through this collection is the spirit and symbolic heft of an ancient faith under contemporary pressures, to mean at all much less be found meaningful. Who is left, these poems ask, to cast out the demons? The God of her father, long ago having left the building, thankfully left the cable hooked up and the refrigerator stocked; the present moment these poems depict and within which they instruct is one where depth must be sought in shallow and hollowed-out cultural ruins."
—John Estes