Belated Valentine's Day Love and Love Anthology

As an adult, I'm not a huge fan of Valentine's Day.  I could really take it or leave it.  Maybe I'm too rational or stringy.  But, what keeps my heart from becoming frozen over is that I am an elementary teacher and the feeling one gets when they open their box of valentines is the same at 38 as it was when I was 8.  You see it in the students' eyes when they place a hand written note in a friends container and you see the magic when that friend opens the note and smiles.  We could all learn to give more of these moments to each other.  Especially in the world we currently live in.  A little more love would be good for all of us.

In honor of Valentine's Day, Low Ghost Press out of Pittsburgh, PA published a new anthology devoted to all types of love poems title, "Unconditional Surrender: An Anthology of Love Poems."  I'm honored to a be a part of this anthology, especially since so many amazing poets from Pittsburgh and beyond are found in the collection.  Two of my poems were selected but the poem "Snowstorm in Black Mountain, NC" is important to me because it's about the small town we call home.  You can read my love letter to Black Mountain below.  And, if you are interested in buying a copy of the anthology, you can do so here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0692876480/sr=1-1/qid=1506871242/ref=olp_product_details?_encoding=UTF8&me=&qid=1506871242&sr=1-1



Snowstorm in Black Mountain, NC
We shovel ourselves
out of the apartment,
pack the dog,
and drive downtown.
Our small town,
under a foot of January snow,
is shut down
save for the Chinese restaurant
where our take-out is ready
and the tavern
that plays bluegrass on Friday nights.
People crowd around small tables at the bar,
wrapped in scarves and heavy boots.
They lean in close to each other
as they shoot back pints of beer and mugs of hard liquor.
The open sign,
a reminder that we all need
a place to belong
     even in a snowstorm
The book store and pottery shop,
     closed for the weekend,
are outlined in gold strings of light.
The windows, frosted over,
a pattern of crystal ferns and
sugared grass.
A pattern, you say, of home.


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