Appalachian poet and novelist George Scarbrough was born on October 20, 1915. Appalachia Bare is celebrating his birthday this week with a two-part essay written by our own Edward Francisco, titled “Christ-Hauntedness in George Scarbrough’s Invitation to Kim.” The essay first appeared in The Iron Mountain Review’s George Scarbrough IssueContinue Reading
Today a joke sits heavy on my shoulders, The room running wild with laughter. The punchline? The sound of my voice Or, rather, a cheap imitation– What they think we sound like. Laughter scrapes my skin like Too-tight wool in the summer heat. It’s said that it’s a hell ofContinue Reading
Down in the gopher’s meadow, The black water meets a bank of bright green— Littered with charcoal colored slate, shifted into a home for the little truth teller. An archway of vine spills over the rocks As purple flowers bloom against the august air. The walnut trees giggle from acrossContinue Reading
A poet lived in a serpeant’s mouth where he sat and dispensed wisdom. He was not old but wept frequently. Flowers withered at his touch and dogs scratched their heads at his perplexity. When times got hard (begging no one’s forgiveness), the poet reached into his side from which heContinue Reading
I love you Grandma. I love you Grandpa. I love your hands, Leathered brown from Years of plowing. I love your palms, Calloused from years of Weeding and canning. I love the syrup Before milkin’ time When the stars are still out, And I love you waiting now, With hoeContinue Reading
when i was a child i would spend South Texas evenings throwing myself with reckless abandon into the gnarled branches of a waiting magnolia. above the pecan falls and beyond the waiting call of my mother’s dinner bell. all to sit for a moment with those sweet flowers in theContinue Reading
I saw your face, and felt the gravity of the moment. The ghost inside echoed the shift, recording the tangent in my course. Your words, your touch, and your spirit nudged my bearing. Tracking left and right, I found no center where once it guided. Bending to the mass ofContinue Reading
There was Red Jaws sitting on the couch, mom’s half-brother, while we waited for his tale. He took a minute, easing into the story like a slow drink of whiskey. I ain’t drunk today he said, still too early but there has been many a time when me and aContinue Reading
Sunlight touches my face at dawn A butterfly lands on my hand Bees kiss wildflowers on the lawn Crimson cardinals present their demands The last glow of sunset reveals a doe and fawn Fireflies twinkle in dewy evening starlight Crickets and bullfrogs sing their soulful tune Moon-eyed owl keeps vigilContinue Reading
“Really Loud and Partially Deaf” dedicated to my Husband, Army Veteran Mark Batton My wife brings up a basket of laundry. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. I know she despises folding laundry. It’s a load of towels. I grab one. Warm and fresh-smelling. I fold it inContinue Reading