The Curse Of Appalachia Poem by March Nicks

I know a secret I must not tell.
Deep down inside, my bones know a truth
More true than anything else ever spoken.
That there is a curse of Appalachia.

Buried beneath the earth,
Deeper than any coal mine could ever reach.
Lies the answer to the mystery
Of this complex conundrum.

This curse has nothing to do with cryptids,
Feral mountain people,
Or any of the other tall tales
Passed down through the generations.

It is something far more terrifying,
Something that cannot be kept away
By shutting curtains after dark
Or ignoring whistles heard deep within the wood.

It's something that's hard to look past.
It's houses held up by cinderblocks,
Its cars held together by duck tape and a prayer,
It's clothes patched up and passed down.

It's lines coming out of the free clinic
Leading all the way to the food bank,
Because someone decided food and healthcare
Are a privilege instead a human right.

Among all of the beautiful things
Passed from Grandparent to Mother to Child,
The culture
The traditions
The mountain music
The neighborly love
This is the one thing our area cannot seem to escape.

The curse of Appalachia is simple and complicated,
All at the same time.
Often it is the single thing that binds us together
Because without one another, we would never survive.

Our curse is,
Has always been,
And always will be
Poverty.

But we are a resilient people.
We may be no stranger to hardship,
But we will do anything to not let it define us.

Our people are known for working hard,
But sometimes it simply isn't enough.
Sometimes our children lay down at night with empty bellies
because the next paycheck is still three weeks away.

Members of our community live in homes
That are falling apart around them,
But leaving is not a choice.
For a roof above one's head is better than none.

Pills have invaded our neighborhoods,
Because sometimes the pain is just too much.
Leaving families broken by a system,
That would rather prescribe the high
Instead of treating the illness.

Since these mountains were settled,
These people have long been forgotten.
Truly an afterthought among the nation
That would have froze to death
Without our men breaking their backs
To dig deeper and deeper.

We are the long time neglected,
Simply doing our best to survive.
But simply surviving is not enough.


So how do we break the curse?
A question asked by every generation of Appalachians.
Those outside of these hills have plenty of ideas,
But nothing worthy to be called a solution.

For now, we keep going.
We keep pressing forward
Till we maybe reach a better tomorrow.
One thing we are not short on here in these mountains,
Is hope.

Till a better day comes we will continue to play our music,
Share our tables with strangers,
And work like our lives depend on it,
Because it simply does.

For I know another secret about living here,
One that is just as old as the curse of poverty itself.
These people are proud,
And nothing will stop them.