. . . on Sunday morning to church. The preacher was
half-way through his sermon, when I felt something
crawling on my back. Thinking it was a fly, I rubbed
my back and realized it was . . . Continue Reading
Her bare feet shoved into slip on shoes
A cigarette dangling from her lips.
Windows down, my . . . Continue Reading
Blessed be the small town girl
Who dreams of city lights,
Chinatowns, and . . . Continue Reading
We rise at dawn,
Your nose still scrunched from slumber.
I meditate to the sound of the sparrows,
My prayer to . . . Continue Reading
Stood amongst the echoes of the Cherokee’s despair,
where sorrow’s soil has sprouted hope, the Rose does declare.
Its roots entwined with . . . Continue Reading
Strip mining decapitates the mountains
Their remains are dumped into rivers
Many tears have been shed by the sky . . . Continue Reading
I gazed up at the old building
as it seemed to swallow me whole
Many walked through its halls
as expectations screamed its call
Years of deadlines and late nights
had lead me to . . . Continue Reading
Anymore, the bearded faces that smothered my cheeks with burns and kisses have been shaved. Some buried. The dresses now are too small, the laced edges ripped . . . Continue Reading
Albritton’s poems take no prisoners. They’re raw, sensate, fierce—unapologetically so. She ferrets out the shadowy interstices lurking in . . . Continue Reading
Most of all, I watch her
Wander about her garden,
Near-waltzing through rows of
Tomatoes and lilies,
Through okra, peppers, and fig trees,
And I see . . . Continue Reading