Limping Along
Even as we march forth into the future, we can’t stop wrestling with the past. Three poems about what time whispers in our ears.
Even as we march forth into the future, we can’t stop wrestling with the past. Three poems about what time whispers in our ears.
Sometimes the littlest things can set us off: a vegetable, a sibling’s smile, the taste of a certain beer, imagining someone who’s gone is still here. Maybe love lives that low—all the way down to the molecular level of the everyday.
An award-winning poet’s reflection on aging, intimacy, and how to navigate the sometimes comical waters of companionship.
After her daughter was caught in the crossfire of a shootout, Jacqueline Allen Trimble penned a poem that asks: how do we sing when every note sounds like a gunshot?
Making biscuits turns everything into a song of praise, lament, and uncertainty.
Through the lens of a childhood birthday party, a Southern poet confronts inherited prejudices from his youth.
From gasoline-scented memories to the purple of maternal exhaustion, these poems capture the raw essence of Appalachian childhood and the profound wisdom of letting go.
A poet-ecologist’s morning run becomes a journey through time, revealing the layered history of a Southern college town.
Nature is delicate. Lies are persistent. Love is steadfast.
A family memory—as small as how Uncle Buck ate an apple—connects generations, even through loss and grief.
Through vivid imagery and raw emotion, Zoe explores the complexities of faith, family, and identity in the heart of coal country.
A poignant exploration of grief, memory, and the enduring connection to lost loved ones. In the streets of a city haunted by absence, solace is found in the eternal presence of those who have passed.