by Lilah Coe
West Virginia is
the blue mountains,
hazy in the distance,
the first bite of a blackberry,
fresh from a prickly vine,
a mother,
falling apart, stumbling,
her children reaching for needles,
the twinkle of fireflies in the twilight,
dancing and flickering to a silent melody.
West Virginia is
a river rushing past,
a force unto itself,
wild and free,
a shaken father,
figuring out how to explain to his family,
that he won’t be going to work tomorrow,
the dusty streaks of coal,
rich ebony gold,
like jewels on a miner’s crown.
West Virginia is
the stunning trees in autumn,
the vibrant reds and soft yellows,
the fiery oranges and brittle browns,
sun-kissed skin,
golden brown from the heat of sleepy summer days,
a tired dog,
waiting by the door,
for an owner, who had passed years ago,
the rich heritage,
a tapestry of stories,
interwoven throughout the land and the people.
West Virginia is
a family,
knit together by the threads of love, faith, fellowship,
and home-cooked meals
a forest,
once singing with the melody of life,
now silenced by man’s smothering touch.
the charm of a southern accent,
the words dripping like sweet honey,
friendly and familiar.
West Virginia is
and always will be,
my home,
forever and always.