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Cades Cove, and: Civil War Underground

Cades Cove, and: Civil War Underground Tim Pompey Appalachian Heritage, Volume 25, Number 1, Winter 1997, p. 19 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1997.0006 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/435757/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:08 GMT from JHU Libraries Two Poems Tim Pompey Cades Cove Pm sure you must be hoarding microscopic bits of me I dropped along the road Civil War Underground from my first shoeprints. Years passing You must since I've faced you feed them like rabbits squarely with your because they often dart by trenchant finger startle me and catch my ear with a low decibel murmur. dripping blood quivering like Cades Cove. a pointed stick in my face. I know your hard frame and how you built me from the same oak sternness. Now Pm up against your steel gaze dipped in hot orange and I tear my cloth laying challenge to apocalypse rumbling beneath the hills and waters trusting in your other God to judge my brashness when our kinfolk kneel at the second coming. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Cades Cove, and: Civil War Underground

Pompey, Tim.
Appalachian Review , Volume 25 (1) – Jan 8, 2014
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Tim Pompey Appalachian Heritage, Volume 25, Number 1, Winter 1997, p. 19 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1997.0006 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/435757/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:08 GMT from JHU Libraries Two Poems Tim Pompey Cades Cove Pm sure you must be hoarding microscopic bits of me I dropped along the road Civil War Underground from my first shoeprints. Years passing You must since I've faced you feed them like rabbits squarely with your because they often dart by trenchant finger startle me and catch my ear with a low decibel murmur. dripping blood quivering like Cades Cove. a pointed stick in my face. I know your hard frame and how you built me from the same oak sternness. Now Pm up against your steel gaze dipped in hot orange and I tear my cloth laying challenge to apocalypse rumbling beneath the hills and waters trusting in your other God to judge my brashness when our kinfolk kneel at the second coming.

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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