I am Appalachia

I am a child, barefoot and free, running through green cornfields on a hot July day.

I am the white flour, hand-prints on my mother's apron.

I am the wild morning glory, dipped in early morning mountain mist.

I am Orphie, and Bertha, and Esba, mountain women, strong, caring, worn.

I am the plow that tills the earth, the seeds planted for fall harvest.

I am the old men, shouting in glory, sitting in a small church, 'the Amen Corner'.

I am Appalachia, the song of my forebears, the shadow of my heritage.

I am faded photographs, lost and forgotten in a dusty dresser drawer.