Appalachian Sunset, Breath Held, A Poem by Tim Carmichael

The sun sinks over the holler

burnt orange bleeds slow and steady

into the purple part of dark

I sit on worn steps, boots covered in dirt

feet tired from walking through fields

hands still gritty from pulling weeds

Evening drifts in with a chill from the creek

faint smoke curls from a neighbor’s chimney

Mama calls from the porch "Supper's ready"

Crickets start their rhythm, low then loud

like the heartbeat of the earth

I listen, letting the sounds fill the space

The sky fades, into darkness

like a candle melting down to wax

holding on to the last bit of light

I don’t move

because some moments there is no rush

and you hold those moments back a little longer

Before night finally rolls in

This original Appalachian sunset poem captures the quiet end of a mountain day. This poem is part of my writing rooted in Appalachian life and language. You can find more of my work here on Vocal and in my book Bloodroot and Coal Dust.