Potato-Log Quest
We drive to spice the lifeless. Patsy wails how crazy real punch-gut love should feel while we wind the rural side-track towns and beat
We drive to spice the lifeless. Patsy wails how crazy real punch-gut love should feel while we wind the rural side-track towns and beat
Arkansas's native poet expounds on the division between urban and rural, pacing of Southern poetry and encountering poetry in unlikely places.
Girls with empty milk pails do a lively waltz along Biltmore Avenue to music set in duple time
Dropped off by Dad, each summer, we’d explore the wash house where she kept her jars. Marooned
Toward August sundown in California my grandmother’s mirror her mother’s people brought by wagon from Arkansas