Archive

I’m my father’s green thumb turned hard from the weeding, plucking out the overgrown. They whimper at my hand, clinging […]

1. 1918 What was it like for you that last summer, the humidity of cicadas endless as the ocean between […]

You pen a note to your friend in math class asking my friend in phy-ed if she’ll tell me during […]

I like the way the paint peels off the ceiling at Cemitas Las Poblanitas—full, satisfying sheets drooping down—and the way […]

Clayton Spencer is an Appalachian poet from Southeastern Kentucky. He holds a BA in English fromthe University of Kentucky.

My mother calls me one evening to tell me I can no longer call her by our name— Or to […]

We found a raspberry patch in full bloom threw them into the brooding, balmy sky turning raindrops into gumdrops. The […]