Longing for the Rise

Longing for the Rise Coal dust and dry timber line the Allegany railway,in the gully between weathered hilltop and the edge of rural America,sidebar to an easy rapid river. It feels a lot like the Kentucky ways,of Ma’s grandad—boot strapped and lamp light led;the early rise, the early death,each breath filtering coal country black sootAnd those tobacco rolled fingers—you remember—yellowed, almost brown,brown like the slow flow riversthat meet at a bend,no distinction one from the other. Old Soul is alive in these parts—bluegrass banjo and shine celebrate Sunday afternoon,and the hallowed sound of the train whistle in the distance,echoing in the deepest part of loneliness—vibrating river water, molecular at the core;each ingrained with mountain memories,memories soon forgotten—just like an old mine’s pay day. A man’s true testament of longing. ~Julie Demoff Larson