Appalachian Church

One of the rural Appalachian churches from my childhood has closed its doors. My father used to preach here. I loved the way he would rock back and forth on his feet during hymns as if the music moved within him. I remember the outhouse, Michael’s black dress shoes which were too large for his lanky body, playing with Leah’s Barbie dolls during the sermon, creaking wooden pews that you could glide across in a dress, and spearmint gum that Cecil kept in his pocket and shared with me after service.