I grew up in southeastern Kentucky near Straight Creek, a…
At eighty-one, she bends bottom to sky, a full
forward fold. The heavens fall around us, rain rolls
to the river. We adorn each grave—husband, son—
with a pine wreath, a red bow, and a dollar store flashlight
to glow on Christmas Eve. I watch, my mother prays,
and my grandmother fiddles with the old Easter flowers.