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A man carrying a young boy on his shoulders, holding hands with a small child while walking on a dirt path surrounded by autumn leaves.

FATHERS & SONS

When my twin brother died at 27 of an accidental overdose, my stoic father cried. The sound he made was nothing like I had ever heard. It was an animal cry, primal in its pain, and I will never forget it. CONTINUE READING

Stories Never Told

This is what I see when I imagine her:  An old farmhouse at the head of a mountain holler. It’s just before dawn. Inside, a woman stirs under heavy quilts. She dresses quietly, careful not to wake her children in the two other beds in the room. CONTINUE READING