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National Poetry Month

Poems by UNC Asheville students, faculty and staff

By UNC Asheville

April 16^th, 2020

April is National Poetry Month, and we're celebrating by sharing poems written by UNC Asheville students, faculty and staff that explore this spring season...pandemic and all.

Digging

by Camille McCarthy, UNC Asheville Great Smokies Writing Program student

From my seat on the curb, the groundhog looks like a giant wooly caterpillar

pulsating across the gravel, lavish pelt obscuring her feet.

She scurries across the lot as a car growls close, disappearing behind a dumpster.

I hope you do not look at the groundhog and see

a mirror of yourself, as I do.

I hope you do not hear her warning whistle

when she stands on hind legs, alert as a prairie dog,

and think of the whistle you keep in your purse

in case of an attack.

I hope you relate to the way

she looks you right in the eye,

but not the way she moves: furtively, tentatively,

ever-ready to scurry into her hole in the ground.

If you see her leathery claws, I hope they remind you

of your strength, your tenacity,

and not the idea of spending your life

scratching out a space to hide inside.

I hope you do not grind yourself down

like she grinds her incisors,

for her ivory-white teeth grow one-sixteenth of an inch every week

and you do not have such luxury.

I hope her gender roles sound old-fashioned to you:

the couple stays together for about a month;

once the birthing-time draws near, the male disappears.

Blind, hairless chucklings

are reared by the mother.

Groundhogs are pushed to the peripheries

and forage only at times when predators are least likely;

I hope this doesn’t remind you of last week,

when you decided not to go dancing

because the late hour made it dangerous,

or of the time you did not say Hello to a man who made you uncomfortable

and he wrote you a vitriolic email about how awful you were.

But if, in fact, the arc of history does not bend toward justice

and this analogy fits you completely,

I’ll remind you of the groundhog’s greatest talent: digging.

Breaking open the ground like those who break the silence,

dredging up bottom-dwellers who thrive in shadows

and the buried secrets of ages long past,

the groundhog’s earth-moving can crack a solid foundation

and swallow farmers and tractors whole.

"Digging" was originally published in The Great Smokies Review, the online publication of UNC Asheville's Great Smokies Writing Program, which offers opportunities for writers of all levels to join a supportive learning community in which their skills and talents can be explored, practiced, and forged under the careful eye of professional writers. Ready to sign up? Check out the summer 2020 online courses.

Ablaze

by Evan Gurney, associate professor of English at UNC Asheville. Originally published in Still: The Journal.

It’s just after noon on the headwaters

of the Pigeon River, the spine

of Fork Ridge stretched out behind me

green and golden in the sunlight,

the hills rejoicing on every side,

and I have been catching brook trout

since late morning, the silly darlings

almost leaping into my hands,

their sides passionately ablaze

beneath their vermiculate patterns.

Perhaps a prick of hunger sends them

to a Hare’s Ear or Yellow Sally with their

hidden barbs, or maybe they think we live

in a world far kinder than we do:

their gaping mouths speak in parables.

Follow the water downstream and you’ll slide

below gorges wreathed by laurel

and rhododendron to Lake Logan,

where Champion Lumber, done trimming

the forest of its timber, flooded Sunburst.

Keep going north, as I will at dusk,

and you’ll flatten out just past Bethel.

The river widens, slows down, its purling eddies

keep turning back to the south, like a man

who doesn’t want to get where he’s going,

and up ahead you see the stacks

of Blue Ridge Paper belching golden steam,

the sky glows, the river glows, and when the peaks

that rise up behind are lit with sundown,

it looks like the mill the town the mountains

and the whole world is on fire.

Unprecedented

by Sarah Humphries Nazionale MLAS '16, associate director of admission at UNC Asheville.

"I spent some time this morning crafting a poem using only the titles and first lines of emails I've received over the past few weeks."

As we navigate the COVID-19 pandemic together, first and foremost, we hope that you and your loved ones are safe.

First, we know no words will do justice to everyone’s individual experience over the last couple weeks.

First, we want to thank you for your patience during this unprecedented time.

First and foremost, we hope you are staying well.

There is much to say about this era in which we find ourselves;

we know that this is a challenging time for many – and an unprecedented one for us all.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

This is a difficult time,

these are unusual times,

what a time this is for all of us.

If you’ve forgotten what day it is,

discover how you can stay connected, productive, and entertained at home.

If you’re dreaming of future travel,

take a small escape from whatever is on your mind today.

It all starts with thinking sunny thoughts.

Positivity is contagious too!

Need a break?

Come into our kitchen.

Food brings us together.

Feel good surprises await.

Stock up and have healthy meals on hand.

Stop the spread, skip the grocery store.

National Burrito Day is still on!

What does your work from home style say about you?

Work from home made me an earrings person.

Comfy dresses only – NOT sweatpants (but better),

new leggings that take (some of) the load off.

Winnin’ in linen – stay home & stay in sweaters!

Create your own sunshine with these styles.

Comfort never looked so good.

Unprecedented times call for unprecedented community action—

things are weird, but we’ll figure them out together.

Life apart, but still together.

Let’s take care – together.

Together we can make a difference.

Together we rise.

The fight for justice continues.

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.

Now, more than ever, people need your help.

Our nation has faced major crises before and we have always come together to confront & overcome them.

Four U.S. Senators sold stocks after COVID-19 briefings.

“I take no responsibility at all.”

Positive vibes only.

Need a weekly boost?

Life found thriving in a 100-million-year-old rock.

Would you like to see your poetry featured here? Send you submissions to communication@unca.edu.

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