The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Fiction

Goings-Ons  in  Pottawatomie County & So Forth & So On by Amy Wilson

"After downing the third Coors, Tommy had to get home to Regina. Tuesday was sex night and he didn’t dare run late. This Tuesday, Regina had promised doggy style and wearing the edible undies. Cherry flavored. Sure, Regina had her problems but she had always remained mostly slender, thank you Jesus, Tommy thought. And she kept the house clutter free of female knick knacks such as glass unicorns and antique dolls. " Read on, yall... Amy Wilson's short story will
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
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Facebook and the Dead Mule

The Mule formatting difficulties are not coming from your browser. Those odd bits of code are supposed to be quotation marks. Or, in some cases, they could be apostrophes. I suspect many of you already know that but some people do not -- so let's be kind and let those who are not aware of the cause understand what is going on here. Read more in this post...
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Tanya Grae: Four Poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: I was born in Sumter, South Carolina while Daddy was stationed at Shaw, though I consider Tennessee home. Uprooted and moved cross-country many times during childhood, summers were spent in Smyrna at Mema and Daddy Tom’s, plus sleep overs at Aunt Ada’s (say A-der). I grew up on fried chicken, bbq, bacon, pinto beans, chow-chow, and fried pies. Nene (Mema’s mama) always crumbled her cornbread in a china cup and ate it like cereal. Daddy Tom was Smyrna’s judge for years, and everyone knows everyone, so don’t go airing your drawers out. Manners are so important, how you speak to others, and offer concern and respect, that you can spot a Yankee right away. I was raised on yes, sir, and no, ma’am, and that’s just how it is. If it wasn’t, well there was surely a switch with my name on it out in the yard. My Cherokee grandmother, Mama Red, was too sweet for that, and she’s the only saint I know. A Southern woman is the strongest spirit, so don’t go kicking her like the dog you hate or a half-dead mule—cause fool, you just won’t.
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Denise K. James: Four poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: I grew up in Florence, South Carolina and now reside in Charleston. The coast is where I feel most at home, inhaling the scent of the marsh and making post-beach sandwiches with homegrown tomatoes.
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Mary Alice MacDonald: Four Poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: I grew up in central North Carolina, just a few hours away from beaches or mountains. A considerable portion of my childhood summer days were spent in the Ozarks in Arkansas climbing the Mimosa tree in Uncle Berlie's yard and eating biscuits and chocolate gravy for breakfast. I swam in spring-fed creeks, rode horses to church, and slept through (hellfire & brimstone) sermons. Another large portion of my childhood was spent sweating in tent revivals and church meetings in Florida, Tennessee, Alabama, and generally everywhere south of Ohio and east of Texas. I'm the preacher's daughter. I know where yonder is and how much is in a mess of mustard greens, and Kentucky has provided me with a lifelong allegiance to bourbon and poetry.
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Joycelyn Renette: Four Poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: Knock-kneed and barefoot, eating fresh pecans on Mama D porch; the South was always about surviving; staying above that which can easily bring you down. Walking the same Mason-Dixie line with those still engrossed in America’s fabric; blood, slave stained fabric dripping with racial relevance. From the cattle and horse fields of Texas to the citrus trees of Florida groves, the South was always about surviving; keeping firm faith amongst a storm. Double consciousness becomes the very entity that keeps a collard green, chittlins, cornbread eating child’s mind intact; acknowledging that I am in a world that will never fully accept me for my color is seen first. No matter my age, regardless the decade, the words, “nigger girl!” have still been yelled out of a school bus window at me. Much has changed in the South, yet under the surface much is at a progressive standstill.
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Kevin Ridgeway:Three Poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: I am a California boy, born and bred. The paternal side of my family is wonderfully southern, hailing from scattered places–Oklahoma, Missouri and Arkansas, especially. My grandfather was a proud southerner, although a drinker and unstable character of ill repute–one you might find in a Carson McCullers novel, perhaps. The most time I’ve actually spent in the South has been in airports–but I could smell its beauty and hear its music having my curbside smokes on those layovers, and I could see the majesty of its landscape from my cabin window. Much of the music I love comes from the South, and much of the literature I love comes from the south. The South is in my blood and it owns a part of my spirit. Most of my dreams take place in the South.
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Lizzie Krieg: Two Poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: As a child, I lived in Fairfield, Ohio. During the summer, my mom and dad would take me to Cincinnati to get ice cream at Graeter's and we'd hang out on the riverfront. I'd eat my ice cream, always chocolate chip, and look out over the Ohio, and marvel that not only was I looking into another state, but at the subtle distinction that separated the Midwest, where I was, from the South. Even then, at six, I saw something wild about that land over the river, and wondered why Kentucky should seem so much freer than where I was, less than a mile away.
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Poetry

Carol Lynn Grellas: Two Poems

Southern Legitimacy Statement: My favorite movie is Gone with the Wind. I’ve saved the drapes from every home I’ve ever owned hoping I might salvage a gown or two that even Scarlett would be proud to wear.