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APPALACHIA revisited Though no solace remains in the hollow veins of these hills, you look back, just as empty, to memories pressed in firmly as dragonfly wings in coal: The face of the child by the curtainless window haunts you: split rails make gray fences. The child's eyes peer out retelling the saga, searching the road for the return of the father black against the snow. No solace in such memories you search the backroads again, seeing the sumac's candelabra flame against the green of summer with Queen Anne's lace by the roadside. MEMORIAL Alice Greer McNew Like a single tombstone, on a creek bank stands a chimney. There, the doorstep, hollowed by comings and goings. Here the hearthstone, hallowed by warmth and use. Great backlogs blackened furthest stonesDid the father set his boots to warm through freezing nights? (Not too close, for leather was dear.) And the children draw nearer the grandmother's rocker To beg a slice of winter apple from her pan? Or bring cloth scraps to put themselves into their mother's quilt? And did the grandfather whittle here, Shaping play-pretties for the young ones, telling yarns, And singing lengthy, mournful tunes? Crumbling chimney, remainder of their presenceTracks in time, imprints in stone, The tears of a thousand rains cannot wash away the sorrow, Nor the warming sun revive the vanished laughter. 26 ...

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