spring sun on red clay the team plows winter’s cold ground a hiss in the barn blackbird on the fence dirty boots sit by the door canned beans and warm bread still days grow longer in a flash of innocence nineteen eighty-one Brandon Michael Ward is a writer,Continue Reading
I have found the outdoors to be the savior of my sanity, and not solely because I am an “outdoorsy” person. The truth is that science confirms the health and mental benefits of getting outside, yet many people in a modern, technologically advanced world seem to be missing out. ResearchContinue Reading
From time to time, Appalachia Bare likes to spotlight some of our best submissions. “Grow Lavender for Luck Child” was written by talented storyteller, Linda Hinkle, and was the First Prize winner of Appalachia Bare‘s 2020 George Washington Harris Short Story Contest. We are proud to present this story forContinue Reading
During this Women’s History Month, please join Appalachia Bare in congratulating Danita Dodson on her outstanding debut book of poetry, Trailing the Azimuth. The following is a poem selected from the book. Join us Thursday for a review of Dodson’s book by our own Associate Editor, poet and litterateur, EdwardContinue Reading
I have been moving my body my entire life. After all, our bodies are made to move. Unfortunately, in the quest to make life more convenient for ourselves it is very easy to get through a day without moving our bodies much at all. This phenomenon doesn’t discriminate and affectsContinue Reading
The cold creek water runs over my skin, baptismal in nature, it bends aroun’ the mountainside, banks muddy, water reflecting the darters’ scales and hogmollies, creek chubs and softshells.Continue Reading
My mom loved to tell me stories of her childhood when I was young. It was not uncommon for her to call my name and ask the famous question, “Who do you want to hear about tonight?” It was a calming ritual for me, as I cuddled up next toContinue Reading
A note from the poet: This poem was inspired by “Appalachian Elegy #6,” a poem from a larger collection by the late Bell Hooks who passed away on December 16th. I wrote “Giles county rapture” before Ms. Hooks’ untimely passing, and, in my most naïve moments, I had hoped thatContinue Reading
Plain seeing Flash, and the flatlander eye swoons with star glint and eardrum roaring crack, a copper spark in sight sounding It was everest over town’s end the thunderhead on high rising to ordovician climes Nearly alleghenies, still half atlas with shoulders lowered since the dislocating swell in pangaea’s heartContinue Reading
Poor Boy’s Gospel My dad died before I could kill him. I always imagined reading back his sins like Saint Peter. I’d reprimand his absence, scorn the idle time he’d wasted, and end with the two kids he’d failed the most. But by then, the man dead to me hadContinue Reading