Pottsville High School

Ode to Fried Chicken

You are crispy and crunchy—unless
You’re in the warmer at KFC.
Golden brown except for the school’s
Chicken—it’s normally cremated or anemic.
Perfectly cooked and moist inside
unless it’s in the bottom of the pan at
Western Sizzlin’, then, it’s raw and bloody.
All of these are true stories.

Austin Ford

What I Mean When I Say…

When I say boots
I really mean to say
how hard he worked
out in the fields
covered in dead, dry grass
He worked to have the life
that he dreamed of
from a young age
I will always strive
to succeed in ways
he never envisioned
I will live the life
he promised me

Logan Parrish


Sharp needles rub my ribcage
I don’t feel pain, just pleasure
I know my granny would’ve loved it
God showed me the butterflies
She is safe, with him
Prayers sent up answered
Black ink to remind me she’s protecting us
Watching from above
I will never forget, she’ll never leave
Just like these permanent butterflies

Lydia Myrick

Where I am From

I am from honeysuckles and hydrangeas that smell like spring
From rice fields and long, winding roads
I am from “turn to page 147” in the hymnal with the spine broken
in the church my family has attended for generations
From banjos and fiddles playing Southern ballads
that my father would sing to me as a child
I am from single mothers and once a month dads
I am from mineral springs and Yell County
From curly hair that my sister and I avoided
I am from dinner at Grandma’s every Tuesday,
Calling her and telling her, “Pork chops and okra please!”
I am from mistakes and addiction
but I am also from perseverance and recovery
In the glass wardrobe in my grandma’s kitchen
Sit picture frames showing me how to be a better man,
who to follow, and who to avoid,
and most importantly, they show me where I am from

Ethan Farnsworth

Once I took a trip to a theme park

Once I took a trip to a theme park
When I was there I saw a story
about what was, and what will be.
about a great, empty field
ripe for building things that spin
and how, one day, this place might once again,
be empty.
a shadow of old memories.
Bright colors reduced to rust and cobwebs
as if frozen in time, wishing for what once was.
Corpses of metal structures, standing high,
and devoid of life,
such are the effects of time in a place like that.
The same at the end as at the beginning.
Empty of all life.

Nicholas Barnes

Where I’m From

I am from backroads,
Winding and obscure.
I’m from small boats with leaks,
Timed joy.
I’m from English and Spanish,
William and Maria.
I’m from calloused fingers,
Gifted by Stella.
I’m from cold mornings,
A numb nose and no deer.
I’m from many small details
about a character whose story is still being written.
Plenty of ink.

Bill Hinkle

Pottsville High School
Pottsville, Arkansas
Dates of Visit: March 1-2
Faculty Sponser: Andrea Hooper
Grade Level: 12th
Appx. Number Students Served: 89
Visiting Writers: Claire Scott, Sylvia Foster