Got my hands on one of my favorite short story collections the other day, I Hate to See That Evening Sun Go Down by William Gay. Gay's work struck a chord with me immediately years back and not just because he is from my home state of Tennessee. He is from Hohenwald, which was backwoods even to us kids living in Kingston Springs (pop. 2,756, but under 2K when I lived there). We knew one road at the bottom of the snake curves that would take you there. That's what they said. Mostly we just pointed at the road and laughed, barreling our way out of town toward the neon bliss of Nashville.
I've still never been, but feel the need to go, now that I appreciate what that soil can produce. Gay's work conjures up that foregone road, where it led, where it bottomed out. He died in 2012. Now it feels like I should make a pilgrimage.
Until then, I offer up this poem, kindly published in Fried Chicken and Coffee, a blogazine of "on-off rants, rural, working class and Appalachian concerns." It's curator and excellent writer, Rusty Barnes, does a great job with it. Thanks, Rusty.
You can read my poem dedicated to William Gay here.
