Poetry

The Truth on Three Lick Creek

Below the ridges, dim and low, the hollows and narrow valleys run, and pools of water prove a stream has been there once. Standing before a pool like these, painted with leaves dropped from the trees, I now believe a mind conceived this place and thought, it must be sunken…

Chicken Bristle

There’s a place near here called Chicken Bristle. It’s not a very hopeful name, but it’s out in the country and quiet. A handful of houses are clustered along a lane. The land is rolling and secret and dark.

And Then There Were Tomatoes

Summer brags outside the tall windows Inside, the air chatters winter Our workshop assignment: Describe something lost Into this season of sun and longest days I write about tomatoes Planting them in my journal of absences Alongside whippoorwill and gypsy breeze  

Here

moonlight on leaves like snow and chime of owl from this hollow’s heart under a rib of Humpback Mountain a late-autumn wind broke its teeth against these rocks  

Sublimity

It has been experienced many times that mountain people live where they do because that is where and how they prefer to live. —A History of the Daniel Boone National Forest 1770-1970, U.S. Forest Service Somewhere along the way to being must also be belonging, because being is not an…

Walking into Winter

Death is opening the paper hearts of the milkweed, unclasping hands that held their secret all summer. Coated and mittened against November-cold, I ease along a hillside path and listen to the rustle and sift, the small talk of tall stalks in the wind:   they are shaking out their…