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James Emory Black of West Union

James Emory Black of West Union Richard Hague Appalachian Heritage, Volume 8, Number 4, Fall 1980, pp. 38-39 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1980.0015 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/441593/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 23:16 GMT from JHU Libraries ames Emory Black of West Union after a story told by Mike Hens?? I wallow in this Brush Creek rushing, come to my feelings again, hailing the brilliant bits of rainwash slewing by. I know the aspen leaf and cedar trunk that bumps then lodges in my skull, attempting fossils or at least an imprint in my mud. When I was drier, baking in the earth-oven of my pale, exhausted acres, I was sad to hear the cries of hound-pups sucked down steady to the bottoms of these pools. No more: they keep me bestial company, muzzling at the feet of faint, city fishers, as I rise in secret and surround them. And I grow greater, deeper, swifter. All my local blindness has at last been washed away: now I know who hacked me into pieces for one hundred dollars of my money, spread my limbs along a misty fifty yards of shore, 38 then quickly burned my http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

James Emory Black of West Union

Appalachian Review , Volume 8 (4) – Jan 8, 2014

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Richard Hague Appalachian Heritage, Volume 8, Number 4, Fall 1980, pp. 38-39 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1980.0015 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/441593/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 23:16 GMT from JHU Libraries ames Emory Black of West Union after a story told by Mike Hens?? I wallow in this Brush Creek rushing, come to my feelings again, hailing the brilliant bits of rainwash slewing by. I know the aspen leaf and cedar trunk that bumps then lodges in my skull, attempting fossils or at least an imprint in my mud. When I was drier, baking in the earth-oven of my pale, exhausted acres, I was sad to hear the cries of hound-pups sucked down steady to the bottoms of these pools. No more: they keep me bestial company, muzzling at the feet of faint, city fishers, as I rise in secret and surround them. And I grow greater, deeper, swifter. All my local blindness has at last been washed away: now I know who hacked me into pieces for one hundred dollars of my money, spread my limbs along a misty fifty yards of shore, 38 then quickly burned my

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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