Ann Keiffer


A prisoner inside the terrible
translucence of depression.
I rage, savaging the walls with my fists.
I weep, pressing my face
against the Invisible,
so lonely for laughter,
for deliverance, for my old life.
But my prison will not yield,
only keeps pulsing, keeps holding…
until I surrender,
the sac breaks,
and contractions begin.


About Ann

I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.

Recent Exhibits

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