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Keith Wilson

Keith was born in Biloxi, Mississippi and raised in the season-less city of palm trees and blacktop known as Torrance, in South Cali.  At the age of 14, his parents took family back to where his father grew up, near Cincinnati, Ohio.

Keith graduated from Northern Kentucky University, where he majored in English with a focus in Creative Writing.  He has experience in journalism, but his real passion is writing stories and poetry, from the opportunities and hindrances his mixed heritage affords him, to scenes from historical moments that grab him, to whatever floats to mind.

Keith reads at, and helps run, The Running Word, a spoken word event that takes place in Covington, Kentucky twice a month.  Keith's works have appeared in the journals NKUExpressed and Appalachian Heritage.  Additionally, he has an essay in The Journal of Kentucky Studies.

 

The Tree

What can I say
waving like an acquaintance
who you might know
like every other tree, era
Words that have been said,
romantic or utilitarian
stated with more grace and ease
whispered in prayer,
stamped in the pulled flesh of it.
No, today is this tree
old but, not so old
an infant in its world
giving butterfly kisses to the horizon
sighing with the weather
learned from seed
of  the ceaseless breath of time and place
For now this tree,
still just a tree,
is the only tree
ringing the world with its roots
spreading on high to absorb illumination,
to bear flesh for light.

 

 

 

 

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