That Old Time Religion
we travel to the home
of cataclysms carrying
our potsherds like a prayer
the mountain snows
portend a possibility
we’ve long neglected
winter’s ancient name
is spoken to those who sleep
with the bones of totems
we find our direction
take our bearings
reading our own entrails
~
Born in Kentucky, Michael Williams has spent most of his life in Tennessee where he has been writing and publishing for over four decades. His poetry has appeared in The Southern Poetry Review, Appalachian Heritage, Southern Humanities Review, Cold Mountain Review, and other journals. He lives in Nashville, Tennessee. His chapbook, Take Nothing for Your Journey, is recently published from Finishing Line Press.
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