Poems by Frank X Walker

Poems by Frank X Walker

On Mother’s Day I’m going to pretend that mine ain’t dead, that she just got Corona. Because she was a nurse I know she’d be very serious about social distancing, hand washing, and the wearing of masks. So me and my siblings would probably plant ourselves six feet apart in…
Pile of Feathers

Pile of Feathers

The pile of feathers was right in the middle of the dirt side-path, leading to the ruins of a tobacco shed. The feathers were clean, June noticed that first: as if freshly plucked, no hint of parasites or smell of decay. “Get away, Elvis.” The hound dog abandoned his tentative…
Coming Soon: Our Spring Issue

Coming Soon: Our Spring Issue

Due to the pandemic, our spring issue has been delayed but is now in the final stages of production and will be making its way to subscribers soon, followed shortly by the summer issue. Lots of fine work is inside, including a series of poems responding to our current moment…
In Conversation: Carter Sickels

In Conversation: Carter Sickels

In January, as he walked through the crowded streets of Park City, Utah, Carter Sickels’s year looked set. The film adaptation of his debut novel The Evening Hour had just premiered to critical buzz at the Sundance Film Festival. Praise was already rolling in for his second novel The Prettiest…
A Statement About Our Name

A Statement About Our Name

When Appalachian Heritage was founded in 1973 by the poet Albert Stewart, it offered a haven for regional writers whose work had often been overlooked and dismissed by literary gatekeepers. Twelve years later, the publication found a permanent home at Berea College in a partnership that fused Stewart’s welcoming vision with…