by lucien darjeun meadows

Sunday morning, these white cedar walls
Multiply the tulip poplar leaves just outside.
I pray, sing, and try to mind the preacher—

Last night, I waited in my family’s field,
On my back, shoeless, shirtless in clover.
You called me Crow. You said Sometimes
Death would be easier than this, and I said
Then come west with me

But with ten generations of fathers
Mining and preaching behind you,
Holler is the only home you will ever know.





Lucien Darjeun Meadows is a writer of English, German, and Cherokee descent born and raised in the Appalachian Mountains. An AWP Intro Journals Project winner, he has received fellowships and awards from the Academy of American Poets, American Alliance of Museums, and National Association for Interpretation. His first poetry collection, In the Hands of the River, is forthcoming from Hub City Press in Fall 2022.