Congrats to Micah Holmes!

The theme at this year's poetry thesis defenses seems to be "That was fun! I didn't want it to end!" Or at least that's what Micah Holmes reported after his successful defense last Friday. Pat Conner, Jim Harms, and I agreed: we had a really great discussion with Micah who is, in case you didn't know, our resident sonneteer.

Micah is off to England soon where he'll continue his studies in Old English... and likely write more poems than ever about his West Virginia home.

Here's one we're particularly fond of.

Oak

On every son are hooks in trees, and cords.

Among the birch and oak I learned to look

for darting fur and rustling leaves. I learned

to listen—antlers cracking trunks—to kill.

Beside our house, a Christian place endures

a clumsy grace, a pastor drawing hell

in sharpie during sermon. Glowing night

enclosed another Sunday spent away.

We could go off the grid. The basement holds

enough to feed a fighting force of men.

And Dad would lay up on the roof and scope

the streets. I feel a need for death in him.

I may not pray to father's God. But I

was made from coal and grime. I breathe, I stand.

Congratulations, Micah! Send us a good old-fashioned postcard!