
As we enter 2021, the Rural Assembly is more committed than ever to amplifying diverse voices from across the country. At our virtual Rural Everywhere gathering, we heard from Anthony Wiles Jr., national student poet representing the Northeast region of the United States. We share his words again today to start this new year.
Name: Anthony Wiles Jr. (also known as A.J. by family and friends)
Age: 17
Hometown: Pittsburgh, PA
School: Sewickley Academy
About Anthony: Anthony is a proud ninth-generation Affrilachian, with roots in the rural Mountain South. His identity and his heritage shape him as a writer and as a storyteller. He dedicates his writing to telling the stories of the people and places that make him whole, giving voice to himself and his community in the process. Anthony plans to become an educator and historian in addition to his creative writing so that he can continue to make change and tell his story. He is an active member of his school community and is active in several other organizations, as well as performing community service and engaging in writing workshops in the Pittsburgh region.
Please Come Home
my home exists
alone and forgotten
abandoned by every soul it birthed,
clung to by the children who never saw it live
tucked in the hollow,
cut in half by a creek the mine polluted
and a river the chemical companies dumped their waste in sits the town
where the cars don’t stop
to an outsider looking in,
there isn’t much there
you might even say
This place is dead
and in fact,
this is the place
where the dead man breathes
forgotten by the world,
it forms the most sacred
memories of my youth
to me,
an outsider by rearing,
an insider by
love and blood:
this is home
when i am sad,
i remember the mountain-top smiles,
jokes told under the setting
of a coal country sun
i taste the crunchy crust of cornbread
and long for my grandmother’s soup beans
and miss vicki’s collard greens
my heart beats to the rhythm
of the country church choir,
my blood flows
in the path of Crane Creek
this town you drive through,
where the cars don’t stop
is my belonging,
my being
i,
juxtaposed between urban and rural forgotten and seen
past and present
know of no other place,
no better place
to call home
where many see pain and poverty,
and trust me babe there’s whole helluva lot of it i see a bond,
a love
that has withstood the worst of the world’s evil yet grown stronger nonetheless
the place i call home,
cries for her children
and chides a world that ignores her
in the place
where my heart is at peace,
Crystal,
is calling her babies home