The old Coal Miner
My mother was, before she ran away on a magic bus to California to become a hippie, a hill child from Appalachia. I spent a fair bit of time there when I was very young - in a lot of ways it was a primal time, lots of things.....imprinted. I have not been back there now in many a year. I would love to but I would need to be a bit better prepared for such a trip. And maybe a small army. That's just if I encounter family. Being a mutt, all of my ancestry is buried below the surface where you can't see....and honestly 99% of it means nothing to me anyway. But I am ashamed of nothing about where I came from and what made me. I am the product of whores, and hedge witches, border jumpers and hillbillys. All of this lives in me. The Old Coal Miner Taking the particles Inside of me Apart even as my will Struggles to hold it together Decay is how time is measured Spun, reckoned, and cut Angels in...