The woman, in her fifties, had draped a black, webbed veil over her head. Her dress might have been from Sears, bought at a thrift
Category: Memoir
The First Journal
Her name was Nancy. She was beautiful. Light auburn hair, slim build, hazel eyes and a smile, oh that smile. She was new to Knoxville
The Ache for Narrative
I’ve spent a lot of life looking back. This wasn’t always the case; Michelle reminds me that, in our twenties, I was the guy who
A Part of Appalachia Dies
My father was born a sharecropper, lived most his years as an auto mechanic, and retired from the coal mines of Kentucky. Sharecropping meant