Yellow Shack Poem by Logan Murphy

I'm from a small town in southeast Tennessee, and come from very humble Appalachian roots.When both of mymaternal grandparents passed awaywithin the span of about a year,I wanted to process my grief through reflecting on all of the memories that we had at their house, which was a tiny two bedroom shack. For a long time, my grandparents didn't even have indoor plumbing, but used an outhouse in the back yard. The shack was heated by wood stoves, drew water from a well, and had an old tin roof that is rusting over.Our familyused to gatherin this tiny house to celebrate Christmas every year, and I'll never forget the memories of singing and laughing in that cramped living room around the wood stove.My grandparents were simple people,and they inspired and fueled my love for music, particularly bluegrass music. This poemis a tribute to them, a memory of good times, and a somber recognition of the passing of time. In the Yellow Shack,I'm reminded of my own mortalityand the value of savoring every moment with friends and loved ones, as well as the deep impact that physical space makes on us. I don't really consider myself a poet, but this is my first attempt to process these emotions through writing.