a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
shattering sand to green light
children collected in
sparkling fistfuls as they died
Who can say what air was like before that bomb dropped? Here where air is both thin and warm, where July brings storms but will not hold them close, where mesas lift in welcome praise, where languages run deeper than a plough. Breathe, now, dust of generations past, breathe as your breath is carried by a sudden wind. Breathe, now, as the storm’s acrid damp after rain. Breathe, now, that heat rising from blacktop, tasting of sage, lavender, dianthus, thyme. Fill your mouth with agave and sing: this will not be
now. one. now. many.
as you became after death
Carolyn Ogburn lives in the mountains of Western North Carolina where she does any number of things for love and for money. Her story, Ordinary Time, was recently awarded the Peden Prize from the Missouri Review, and her work has been published in The Missouri Review, Empty Mirror, Poetry International Online, Our State Magazine, and others. She has been a regular blogger for Ploughshares, and a contributing editor for Numero Cinq. She’s received an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts, and fellowships from Ragdale Foundation and Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.