Abbie Kiefer is the author of Certain Shelter (June Road Press, 2024). Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in Copper Nickel, Gulf Coast, Pleiades, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, The Southern Review, and other places. She lives in New Hampshire.

Other poems on the web by Abbie Kiefer:
Five poems (audio only)
"My Hundred-Year Flood"
"The Love Ridge Loop"
"My Dentist Detects Occlusal Loss"
Three poems
"International Paper Makes an Announcement"
"Revitalization Project: Mercy Hospital Nurses' Dormitory"

Abbie Kiefer's Website.

About Certain Shelter:

"This is the book of poems I needed to read this year, the year my own mother died. And this is the book I needed to read this summer, when the river is high and the water and words come rushing and cold. Abbie Kiefer's poems brim with a practical tenderness. She wields a Yankee sensibility with language—every word perfectly chosen, every line a clean break. In this book, factories close down and people sew their own sutures. The garden blooms another season. Another year approaches and we fret. But there is something beautiful waiting in the soil, too. Read this book if you are a daughter or a son or a parent or if you are someone who has lost something, because this book will help you find something. There's something for you on every page."
—Christina Olson

"Certain Shelter by Abbie Kiefer is an exquisite collection that weaves together personal loss and the enduring spirit of a place and people grappling with ruin. These poems praise in the aftermath. They praise in the minor key. And the effect is dazzling. Kiefer is an immense lyrical storyteller and philosopher. Mother-loss parallels both a mill town's and a poet daughter's desire for wholeness in what crumbles—bodies, worlds. Here is a saltbox crafted with care, a shelter of pinewood, and a speaker who, when everything else falls away, will hold even 'empty space.' Built with such spare, deft architecture, these poems brim with tenderness, irony, and heart."
—Jennifer Givhan

"Abbie Kiefer's Certain Shelter is a book about generations of women, about childhood landscape, about loss. Kiefer looks forward and back into the body and landscape of her mother, who has died of cancer. She writes, 'We never stop wanting parents. Wanting home.' Kiefer rises far above sentimentality with a strong focus on craft, on objects, and on centering the reader in time and space through surprising references to pop culture (like Hot Lips Houlihan, Bob Ross, and Jeopardy!) that show the beauty and absurdity of losing a parent who is a collection of memories and scaffolding. Kiefer tells us, 'Oh, I'm tender / toward relics.' Indeed, here are the relics of childhood, threaded through the mother and into the woman who is now a mother, in the setting of small-town Maine, which reflects the internal crumbling and displacement in its economic decline and later revitalizations. 'Anything, anything can come undone,' writes Kiefer. Through her humor, her expert lines, and her transformative images, though, anyone who has lost a parent might learn to 'take their sure chance to rebloom.'"
—Sara Moore Wagner

"In this collection, Abbie Kiefer has made for us a kind of shelter without shelter, a kind of certainty without certainty. During and after the loss of a parent and the loss of a hometown, and through the pleasures and sadnesses of contemporary life, these well-crafted poems offer all kinds of ways of standing in and out of the rain. 'Because it is solace to say it plainly,' Kiefer writes. These poems are a love letter to so many things, including parts of Maine that have been going away for decades now. 'Ground that shakes,' she writes, 'can also shelter.'"
—Gibson Fay-LeBlanc