The Woman God of Appalachia; Albuquerque; Centre Street; Snowed In; 97.4 Percent White

The Woman God of Appalachia

The witches and waitresses
of the Appalachians
follow only one
God.
I have seen her on occasion
carving midnight embers
from her spine
illuminating a divine magic
found only
in the season
of the Gemini.
She hunts by moonlight
chasing the sweetest
perfume of the mountains
indulging in the whims
of the lilacs.
In my dreams
she spins
with the moon
dancing circles
‘round my room.
The dirt of which woman
is made
will be sifted
in the hands
of the Appalachian
Woman God.
In my sleep
I witness
the creation
of Wild Woman -
a divine prophet
setting the countryside
ablaze
in a rebellion
of foxfire.

Albuquerque 

We rounded the corner,
the Sandia Mountains glimmering like rust-colored prophets
from the passenger seat.
Far from The Flatlands,
I traced the curves
of Mother Earth with my fingers.
I imagined the way her gentle hands
could carve existence on a whim.

Centre Street

Many have claimed
to wrap their
arms around
love
to fit it
snugly between their ribs
to sing to it
to let it circle
down the drain
to have swallowed
its hidden
heartbeats
and
any poet
with a spell book
could cast their
words on to it
but I know
love
as I have held its
bare bones
against my own
in the slumber
of my home
where it grows
upon acres of your skin
that I caress
again
and again
and again.

Snowed In

Snow in Brooklyn
is quiet
still enough
to hear
the heartbeat of my city
the drumming
of which
keeps me awake
on warmer nights
but in the cold
every ghost
is wrapped around
the air
turning circles
the color
of your hair.

97.4 Percent White

The town I’m from
has a history
an excommunication
of diversity
at the helm
of self-serving
Caucasian propriety.
My sister is 50 percent
Black -
her ancestors once
ran towards the Freedom
promised
in the small towns
like this one.
This small town -
97.4 percent white -
instead hung her ancestors
in the town square,
jeered at their attempts
to live among the same people
who were proud
to live in a land of Freedom.
Only certain Freedoms
are allowed, however,
in towns like this one -
only a Freedom
of a certain color.

*****

Photography Credit: Jason Rice

Ashley Moor is a journalist and poet from Dayton, Ohio. She particularly enjoys writing about her two passions- travel and wellness- as they relate to her community and beyond. Ashley has previously published her work in Rookie Magazine, Mock Turtle Magazine, and more local publications throughout Ohio.