. . . who knew what else lay there until I tore
the barn down. Rotten floorboards broke
under pressure; locust posts stood bone hard.
After puzzling over my old bicycle frame—
minus tires—I carried . . . Continue Reading
. . . for those of us who live here and love this land, it is more than precious. It holds our spirits, our hearts, our bones, our histories. It breathes with nature and wonder. And it often beckons us. I have experienced the beckoning myself: a deep feeling that . . . Continue Reading
We’ve all heard of kintsugi,
but gold is not a scar – precious, yes.
Costly, yes. It has worth.
Russet and flame, magenta and amber,
these leaves hold the memory of . . . Continue Reading
As I move my body upon the land
The rhythm of nature flows through my earth.
As my thoughts and words change, the clearer I see
Who I am and how I can be
A strong yet gentle, spiritual warrior
My words sing freedom and power to . . . Continue Reading
Over the sluggish Tennessee River
giant heron swoops and lands
like folded blue fabric . . .
Continue Reading
. . . shucking fresh corn
atop the shaded steps of the back porch
recounting childhood dolls with hair made from
the same silken threads I pulled from the husks . . . Continue Reading
Down at Mullens every porch has a puffed couch
or wooden rockers where locals sit for a spell
watching gravel trucks rumble on past
Coal Country Bar and Grill, always crammed . . . Continue Reading
The ghosts lie prostrate in the land
While I cross where berms were planned
As monuments to great last stands
And retreats tinged with shame.
Cannons cross at the Dead Angle,
Where North and South were once entangled
And Southern hope was slowly strangled.
Then . . . Continue Reading
. . . for now, I find shallow water
and sit on a rock facing west,
a creek exhilarates my bare feet
as it . . . Continue Reading
My father was coal dusted and bent from the mines
But he saw that I had a degree
He taught me to hold a jack rock as . . . Continue Reading