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In 1968, two weeks before my seventh birthday, my family left the sandy red dirt of the wiregrass region of Lower Alabama and moved to Birmingham, a roiling city built in the shadow of Red Mountain in the southern Appalachians. That move should have been a culture shock—I was leaving a tiny town untouched by … Continue reading Home

Carapace

Hush. Be quiet. The long summer day is coming to a close, spooling up its lovely light, but there is nothing to fear from the night. There is nothing to fear from the motion of this golden blaze giving way to purple night, or from life giving way to death, for that matter, or from … Continue reading Carapace

Revelation

The fog comes on little cat feet, as everyone knows, but the fog does not sit on quiet haunches except in poems. In the world, the fog is busy. It masks stalking cat and scratching sparrow alike. It blunts sharp branches, unbends crooked twigs, makes of every tree a gentler shape in a felted shade … Continue reading Revelation