Appalachian
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Little hands they have, my sister
Born from Mountains and blackest coal
Created by those that so proud, dig
for righteous living in dark holes
Little minds they say, my brother
It smells like coal
my mother says
"Reminds me of my childhood,"
she says
Reminds her of family reunions
Ashland, KY
formerly a place of gathering
(It is now a ghost-town
living up to its name)
Dust drifts down, and for a moment, it resembles the dance of white snow.
Caused by a large boom, the dust falls and crashes into the top of houses, trees, and people.
Some dust lingers in the air and shrouds everything in sight.
