Mother: Time by Claire Elise Baker
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
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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
When you’re on the edge,
you’d expect a century to look
a little less like itself.
Full of newness and breath,
but maybe it’s . . . Continue Reading
Love that churned butter
stirred soup beans,
fried fruit pies,
Love that could read your fortune
in . . . Continue Reading
Make me the promise
that you’ll never leave
this coal slurry town.
Sing . . . Continue Reading
I think it is a snake, see how it bends.
Kate says it is a hound, sleek for the chase,
but whether hound or snake, swift it was not,
for old men who use canes . . . Continue Reading
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
It was early springtime, where down by the sleepy willows,
brilliantly flocked buttercups were . . . Continue Reading
Clouds pinwheel
atop mountain-pleated land,
celebrating . . . Continue Reading
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