Poetry

Marianne Worthington

Strings
The Unclouded Day

Rita Quillen

Winter Aubade From The Mad Farmer’s Wife
Poet’s Pantoum

Brooke Drinnon

At the Downtown
Passengers of the Clinch—A History
Sisters in Spring

Larry Thacker

Shuddering

Joshua Dodson

Winter Bridge
Untitled

Debora Short

An Orchestra’s Score-less Page

Nicole Golden

Mountains


Brooke Drinnon

At the Downtown

Some Saturdays you can find me
Squished into a booth, sharing
Pitchers of Rolling Rock,
Stories and laughs
With a few girlfriends
Drunk on the music
Of a Trip-Hop twosome
With a rootsy twang.
Dizzy, we sing
Bouncing Round the Room;
Smoky haze carries fused melodies
Into the city and over the catwalks.

Passengers of the Clinch—A History

Indians in canoes:
Warriors, hunters, traders
Cut through pristine waters
With long, wooden oars.

Mysterious dark-skinned people:
White? Black? Spanish? Indian? Portugese?
Navigate the unknown.
Accidental findings—
A place to build churches, make moonshine,
Raise families—A home in the mountains
That won’t amount to much.

Various drowning objects:
Cows, trees, half a house,
A Chevy pickup, a whole year’s crops
All uprooted by pregnant waters,
Sent raging across the river bridge
In the flood of ’77
Which gave birth to harder times, new beginnings.

Laughing girls wearing flowered bikinis
Ride on inner tubes,
Float with beers in hand
As the tired Clinch makes its way once more
Snaking through the mountains.
Red-polished toenails dip in,
Ripples break the glassy surface,
And an unexpected storm sends
Lightning plunging deep into the river bed.
Do the catfish feel it?
 

Sisters in Spring

Butterfly kites soared high in the wind,
And children’s laughter floated on air.
You can never go home again.

We always knew it was springtime when
Daffodil halos lit on wind blown hair,
And butterfly kites soared high in the wind

Rolling green fields which had no end
Now confront us, fruitless and bare.
You can never go home again

Long before talk of guilt and sin,
We ran and sang without a care,
And butterfly kites soared high in the wind.

Golden sunbeams on milky skin.
If I close my eyes, I see us there.
You can never go home again.

I wish we were close like we were then.
We got lost somehow; I don’t know where.
Butterfly kites soared high in the wind.
You can never go home again.