Kathryn Stripling Byer Poems

This, he said, giving the hickory leaf
to me. Because I am poor.
And he lifted my hand to his lips,
kissed the fingers that might have worn
...

I hoe thawed ground
with a vengeance. Winter has left
my house empty of dried beans
and meat. I am hungry
...

Without hands
a woman would stand at her mirror
looking back only,
not touching, for how could she?
...

The only clouds
forming are crow clouds,

the only shade, oaks
...

Up here in the mountains
we know what extinct means. We've seen
how our breath on a bitter night
...

I don't know. I still can't get it right,
the way those dirt roads cut across the flats
and led to shacks where hounds and muddy shoats
skulked roundabouts. Describing it sounds trite
...