Absent Hills
By Johanna Haas
In 1980, West Virginia had green hills of magic.
The sky was small and the land wide.
Others saw only coal.
Others saw black diamonds.
Fireflies lit dark July skies,
A child could chase them forever.
My place of Hillbillies.
My place without luxury.
People say little girls should be quiet,
Fed upon sugarplums and restraint.
I cannot stay silent.
I cannot return home.
They blasted away what I knew.
I will raise my voice about our silences.
Silent rock, sitting open.
Silent women, keeping peace.
I will shout the things that matter,
Even if I’m the only one who hears.
Shouting, stop removing the mountains.
Shouting, stop removing us, too.
Johanna Haas lives in the middle of the U.S., in a cottage with four lions. She writes fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, focussing on speculative work. She is neurospicy, disabled, a former professor, and the publisher of Cicada Song Press. Her work has appeared in Bewildering Stories, Young Raven’s Literary Review, *82 Review, and Star*Line. Her poem “Absent Hills” won first place in the Wilda Morris Award from the Illinois State Poetry Society, and you can find her playing with plants and animals or tying a long string into many knots. Visit her website and read more of her writing at her Substack.
Photo credit: David Hoffman via a Creative Commons license.
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