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The Widow's Fall She stoops before the bed to prune the old away. No roses now, only lifeless stems, and briars clinging to sweater's sleeves like kitten's claws. Her fingers tread soil like gnarled water maple roots floating beneath the leaves. She mounds earth to earth on roots put down in spring. An icy wisp, impatient for the snow, tugs her apron strings. She draws the sweater to her chin, embraces the cool child, knows the changing of the seasons. -Charlie G. Hughes Mourning Picture Now's a good time to go through graveyards in your head. Pale light lazes on stones and mounds. You'll amble in a brown study, dreading cold sepia, the worn look of absence, wanting to know how it is with the sleepers .... You'll inch a path through vine-tangle-the small leaves like pennies on their eyes. You'll leave, feeling lucky to be in your skin, breathing the tangy air of fall, needing a warm room and your lover's hands. -Charles Semones Appalachian Writer The English professor was rumored to have been run out of New York, well actually New Jerseyan eye for the co-eds, no doubt. Two weeks after he moved into his Mt. Dream College office, he posted a sign on his door: Certified Appalachian Writerfor ten dollars he held membership in an Appalachian Writers Conference. He never had to see the creeks, the garbage, the strip mines, nor a genuine mt. man not neutered by the collegiate atmosphere, because he spent his time on campus writing faculty romances with impeccable grammar. Six months later the Official State Arts Council gave him a $5,000 dollar grant, which he used as down payment on a Cadillac. The Mt. Dream writers' group's latest projectprotest letters to the Official State Arts Council. -Walter Lane 78 ...

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