Tag Archives: American poem

2026, everyday words, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape

all our stories, the ones worth memory

I find myself returning to old habits. The mornings blur, punctuated by the necessity to move. Away from the river the itchy foot kicks in and needs moving in spite of the new old man hip that moans when the rain knocks on the wind and the stairs keep going. The feet must keep going. Making sure I am present when I am home and finding ways to stretch this new old man hip out on the road. Must go and make use of the time. I have done the thing that frightened me, which is dig in and be in a single space, though that space turned out to be the land between the bridges, which opened up the river, that great world’s wound. And now, here I am, back on the road, riding different wounds and different currents. But they are not unfamiliar.

moments taken apart and cleaned within a millimeter
the surface must be clean and smooth to reduce friction
examined and repaired, each breath polished to a high shine
equipment checked and double-checked
firebox boots retooled, bring out the road hat
there are currents and islands to be found
mooncasts and sunrises to bask in
the stars make their own map
and tell all our stories, the ones worth memory

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2026, everyday words, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, prose, Prose Poem

one person’s truth is another’s annihilation

I remember the landscape of my old homeground by the absence of landmarks. Rolling east on the Appalachian Highway, the absence of green space shook my mental map and memory of the place. There used to be great draughts of space between Eastgate and the wild lands of southeast Ohio. It was the escape into a space that still felt unsettled and a little more free, a little more dangerous. The kind of place a person could test themselves and still breathe clean air and see the stars at night. Before the cellphone towers, before fiber optic tentacles and the empty promise of economic recovery. The only lies were the ones people told themselves, the ones from which great and terrible futures are written.


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2026, Day Book, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry

Keep in mind that Baba Yaga prefers dark chocolate and tea with lemon

Find enough faith for the day in the radio
there’s hot coffee enough on the stove upstairs
light the first pipe of the day, a pinch of tobacco
to wash back the slug of coffee, push back
the cool morning, a tease that spring is fading
the summer yard mowers have already attacked
wanting to be home and looking for ways
to be away, the body noisy from needing
another 3000 mile check up, another rusty joint
replaced and still must go must go must go must
but this morning
enjoy the taste of coffee and tobacco
commodities for which we are grateful
in these days
when we must remind ourselves
we have been abandoned
by the faiths our grandmothers held to
and we must make our own peace
with the witch hidden by the dark eastern woods.

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