Eric has been devoutly trying to break his
neck all day, as if one more photo from
atop the frozen waterfall might redeem
a single hickory or oak, flung
aside on the stripped mountain.
Dross. Dredge.
The three of us are driving back to the part of
Kentucky not scarped barren as toast.
Eric and I almost let
ourselves snarl at each other over the CD’s. The jokes,
the terrible jokes, the deathbed jokes.
David is bombarding us with his relentless
supply of fart jokes, the mirth in a burning
room. I want alcohol, plenty of it,
bring it on. We are a knot of
grief and guilt and rage and there will
be no undrugged sleep for us tonight.
Author’s Note: On Sept 25- 27 APPALACHIA RISING is coming to Washington to bring a small problem to public attention. Five hundred of the Appalachian mountains have been blasted away for coal. If you're in DC Monday, you'll never think of hillbillies the same way again.
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Margaret Ricketts has gotten grants from the Kentucky Arts Council and the Kentucky Foundation for Women.
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