By Frank X Walker
It’s complicated.
Me and the South. Me,
and the land, and the trees.
Whose ever woods these are
are full…
Me and the South. Me,
and the land, and the trees.
Whose ever woods these are
are full…
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- By Larry LevisI had already decided that a thing could not be seen
For the thing it was, when I looked up & waved … - By Larry LevisThere is still a photograph of lovers I would like to forget.
After all, the unsentimental oak trees… - By Frank X Walkerthoroughbred racing
and hee haw
are burdensome images
for kentucky sons
venturing beyond the mason-dixon… - By Frank X WalkerThe first time I put my hands on a horse
I pretend like I’m touching a woman
or brushing my mamma’s… - By Frank X WalkerBoth of them were history, even before one
pulled the trigger, before I rocketed through
the smoking barrel… - By Frank X WalkerI had forgotten you were my first kiss
until I see you standing there
behind my sister, waiting quietly… - By Frank X WalkerWe held hands for the first time
on his deathbed, which would have been
insignificant had we at least … - By Frank X WalkerAll believers know about the power of water
though not enough about the power of dirt.
My mama used… - By Frank X WalkerWhen we first left Kentucke
the trees had commenced to dressing up
the fall harvest an the garden
was already… - By Cornelius EadyYou have to imagine it:
Who said you were too dark/too
Large? Too queer/too loud?
Who said you were too… - By Frank X WalkerNobody slept. We just lay there stretched out
on the floor like we did when we were kids,
all lined up… - By Frank X WalkerHumiliate her mother at every checkpoint.
Replace the Second Surah with air raids and shelling.
Reduce… - By Frank X WalkerWe are two copper spoons
beneath the blanket.
I am listening to my wife’s
gentle breaths.
She is finally… - By Maggie SmithThe day is winter bright. I blink against it.
Each time the sun glints in my eyes,
each time I close… - By Jane HuffmanThe dilemma
is one of expression.
My expression,
my cough, speaks for me.
What I want
to express is very … - By JA LentonGrandfather and I are hurling stones
into Brandy Bay. Round for round,
he beats my distance. Shortsighted… - By Sunnylyn ThibodeauxThe morning air holds
the rumble of cleaners
Ravens strut through shadows
collecting spilled debris… - By Frank X WalkerIndian summer Saturday mornings
meant project door screens sat open
waiting for the vegetable truck
No … - By Frank X WalkerThe sound of a race is music but like nothing with
strings or words. You’d need a hundred men with
…