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Honey Branch, not unlike other parts of rural Appalachia, has a paradoxically bittersweet character. Home to rugged mountains, babbling creeks, thick foliage and various wildlife, the natural beauty and quiet stillness of the holler recall a simpler time. It is only five minutes away from St. Paul, Virginia, a small town whose revitalization has focused on rural tourism like kayaking and ATV trails. To those of us who lived on the branch, though, there is a haunting darkness . . . Continue Reading

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Her deep connection with these Appalachian Mountains is evident in her poetry. Her words encapsulate the very essence of this region – from ancestors to the natural world and in between. Her own mountain spirit and philosophy of interconnectedness flow through her poetry . . .Continue Reading

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It looked like all his worldly possessions were in the cart. He was holding up a cardboard sign that said, “Please Help.” Next to him, sitting at his feet, was a small brown dog.

Like everyone else, I passed him by, but, as I drove away, it began to bother me. I’m not wealthy, but I could certainly . . . Continue Reading

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I spy my love   along the ridge,   a silhouette   in shadows of black. I stand with my heart   a breakin’   ‘fore I fear   he’s not coming back. We were to be married   this autumn   but the war broke out   in June. With brothers at odds   in the fighting,   I fearContinue Reading

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Christmas Eve 2017 A clock tick away from thirty my grandson lowers onto a chair beside me where we stare at the curious chiaroscuro of Christmas lights blinking in a pattern as undetectable as the reasons for his diagnosis. He sips air with the feeblest exertion of swamp-diseased lungs. SomeContinue Reading

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1. You and I lived nowhere by the river among the frogs, mushrooms, and flowers that flourished beside the sidewalks of our neighborhood. In the light of moon against the southern trees blowing in wind from the west, Your phone and my face glowed as we talked about what weContinue Reading

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My grandson, Joshua Bathe, passed away last April after being diagnosed with an aggressive cancer five months earlier. The following is my poetic tribute to him.             Elegy to a Grandson           Grief undulates           like an inchworm           and just as slowly.           It forces one to use           the conditional tense:             HeContinue Reading