I haven’t seen perfect hands except wrapped around the hickory in the yard. I spread feed at the base and built a sanctuary; I knelt I prayed for perfect hands to hold my world with sacrificed flora before it could seed I built an altar at the base of our hickory miles from anything but…Read more »
Sundays were bright blue a family drawn in sidewalk chalk and a hidden stack of mail; summer evaporated like old rain sun-scorched puddles at the base of the drive our feet were small- strong, calloused by hot pavement and we spoke love like it was a part of us like there was no hole in…Read more »
Robert H. Treman State Park 09/19/17
There’s sand in my sheets where I’ve carried the grit of travel into fiber into home strange a threshold crossed seamlessly, Virginia’s in the kitchen Georgia spilt atop the hutch the sheets are dusted, a comfortable grain against well-worn skin calves, unshaven and I’m the sand in someone else’s bed
Blue water is warmer thick skin is softer he said You tear like paper at my words and I can’t hold something so prickled, so sharp. Arms of rust, breasts of splintered wood victims of exposure to you.
I pasted feathers on my back so I could fly back if I got lost surely I could find home from way up high right? Wandering broken roads swept up in seas of identical grey concrete had come undone. Home I told my arms raised them high above me a crown of brown and gold…Read more »
It seemed a futile attempt – what WV brewery would be open for business on a Sunday afternoon? My companion and I were headed home from an incredible trip to Grayson Highlands State Park. After two days of camping, hiking, and climbing I was rejuvenated, relaxed, and in dire need of a delicious beer. We…Read more »