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The History You Know
By Andrew R. Duckworth There are gravel roads, may they never be paved, that hold history. They’re a mess and they shift, get washed out by floods. Somewhere down the road are my footprints out in the middle of nowhere—the history you know but at which few others care to look, the history everyone makes…
Cultivating
By Andrew R. Duckworth We’re always told to get on board with the new ways or we’ll be left behind. By what? Unsure. Probably left behind by those who think they own the world, the ones who buy up large swaths of land just to desecrate it. They can pass me by. I’ll be out…
Forgotten Things
By Andrew R. Duckworth In the yellow fields close to Santa Fe, New Mexico, there are dark shrubs that, from a distance, remind one of the buffalo that once made it their home, as if those yellow fields aren’t lonely enough. People were there once too. The further west one travels, the bigger the graveyards…
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Poetry and Essays of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 