Dry Run Creek

William Woolfitt

a dead black calf / its eye chemical blue         —Tracy K. Smith

I read stories about vicious cows that attack      cows in agonymalformed calves      foaming at the mouth      a creek that bubblesstories about green water      dripping from pipes      unlineddigestion ponds seeping      Teflon sludge      veterinarianswon’t get involved      the company just about owns      the townWilbur Tennant films himself      dissecting one of his dead calvesthis won’t get covered up      I’m bringing it out      in the openfor people to see      he points out the tarry teethsaws into the calf’s head      exposes its tumorous braincauliflower tongue      green innards      I can’t hide fromstories about privilege      greed      some that’s mine      somethat harms my neighbors      the people I love      their storieschoked by grief      here I look away      look for earlier scenesthe hilly acres      homeplace for the Tennant boys      long hoursin gardens      cornfields      barns      they eat watercressfrom the creek      trap muskrats      their mother flours & stewsmaybe at night the boys      spread quilts      under moonlitelderberry trees      moths crawl over      their hay-scratched handstheir eyes      pulling new shapes      from tree-shadowsthe shapes whatever      they want them to be

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Headshot of William Woolfitt

William Woolfitt grew up in Farmington, West Virginia. He is the author of four poetry collections, two story collections, and an essay collection. Ring of Earth (stories) was published by Madville Publishing in 2023; Eyes Moving Through the Dark (essays) is forthcoming from Orison Books. He attended Fairmont State University, Hollins University, and Penn State University, and lives in Southeast Tennessee.

Cover of The Night the Rain Had Nowhere to Go

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The Night the Rain Had Nowhere to Go
Belle Point Press
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"Here is a people’s history of Appalachia mired in coal slurry and sawdust, thick with the stink of industrial toxins. But do not despair; The Night the Rain Had Nowhere to Go is not a death knell but more like a church bell ringing clear across a valley and calling us home. Will Woolfitt’s poetic practice uses not dread but song and singing to bring a vital music to these 'stories choked by grief.' Here is a people’s history of Appalachia whose melodies are brutally honest, unforgettable, and reminiscent of 'what it’s like to be alive to wonder and dread.'”
—Marianne Worthington, author of The Girl Singer

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