Poetic Reclamation of Appalachia
I bring saltwater in my blood, but the mountains ask for stillness— they do not know the pull of tides in the bones of men like me. Each ridge forgets the shoreline, each pine denies driftwood. I sleep among limestone whispers, brown skin mistaken for autumn bark. This land was not made for my voice— but I carve it in… Read more →
Interview with Tracy Youngblom about Because We Must (U of Massachusetts Press, 2025) and winner of the Juniper Prize for Creative Nonfiction
PAIGE RIEHL: Tracy, first, congratulations on winning the Juniper Prize for Creative Nonfiction! It’s so well-deserved! Thank you so much for speaking with me about your memoir Because We Must, which chronicles your experiences in the aftermath of a car accident that severely injured your youngest son, Elias. I was so incredibly moved by your writing—the adept ways you write… Read more →
Strange to Think
After James Dickey You’re dissecting a brain. A sheep’s brain. You make a sagittal cut, halving it like an heirloom tomato. But it’s not an heirloom tomato. It’s a sheep’s brain, and it smells like science. You take the left half in your hand. You have the urge to casually toss it in the air and catch it like a… Read more →
Robb Kunz (a slideshow)
For Whom Does This Come
careening the marbled mind down mathematical koans: What is the sound of 18 million miles clapping 82,818,537 kilometers away? Sunset compresses far below our feet, first lights of the Bay Bridge create a silver river below, my daughter’s hair trails uncombed. She grumbled her way up the hill and now she’s a conduit of wonder and light. We witness this… Read more →
Reasons I Refuse to Cut My Hair
(cont.) 156. It’s an all-natural people repellant. Not only am I a six-foot-six gorilla wearing size sixteen shoes, but also my mohawk is longer than just about anybody’s hair. So, even at my day job where I’ve worked with the public for over a decade, people have become this much more reluctant to approach me. For a time, I… Read more →
The Broom
After Jose Hernandez Diaz After my first psychotic episode, I turned into a common house broom. My long, sturdy handle was made of previously loved wood, and sleeked into a bunch of fastened blonde crunchy yet pliable corn husks. I swept the floors of all my neighbors, gathering up their stories, memories, worries, and hopes, then reduced them into neat… Read more →
Outlook
“The chickens are always in twos,” my 16-year-old says, watching our laying hens grub with clawed toes, then peer at the ground, tilting their heads for a close look, just outside our kitchen window. (I think) my daughter is distracting herself from the homework on the counter in front of her. School is often miserable for both of us, a… Read more →
The Comments Section at Whitehouse.gov
If I didn’t know the words molten and crag how could I refer to the world beyond my line of sight? Breadcrumbs and visions fall from my chapped lips: great buildings leaning against one another for support, lakes draining, flaming comets crisscrossing smoke trails above, dinosaurs returning just as the first stars note their absence. Another day greeting my neighbors… Read more →