Articles about Linda
“Ask my family to say the rosary for me, Lin, please,” Grandpa Jim said. My father-in-law’s voice, warmed by a slight Kentucky drawl, a remnant of his birthplace, was fresh in my ear. But his lips had not moved. He lay in a coma, about to die. But I’m only an in-law, I thought, it’s…
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As a young woman, I checked my wild creative nature and sexuality to preserve my cherry. Later, I discovered that the hymen was but a crescent flap of embryonic tissue; a remnant that men and religion imbued with high moral meaning. I had two nicknames in high school: “Miss Advent” and “Sassy.” Translation: irreverent and…
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“Hey, Sandy-Beach-Del, you must be po-or. Your bookbag is, like, trashed, man.” The spin on my last name, Sandel, was typical for the boy, a fellow sixth-grader. My bookbag was a sorry sight, frayed and falling apart. Schoolbags back then didn’t have fancy shoulder straps and lots of zippered pockets. They were satchels, carried by…
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“There is a line of varicose veins on both your legs, mid-thigh,” the woman doctor said, her tone matter of fact. My feet were clutched in the frigid steel stirrups on the gynecologist’s table. My backside felt saran-wrapped against fake leather. Bright white fluorescent lights did not warm the space between my spread legs. Neither…
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“Mama, I can’t breathe,” she said. Ancient and black, ankles spilled over battered sneakers, she raised her arms to the mystery.
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I’m Speaking. Who’s the “I”? Over a year ago, I started “Method Writing” classes with poet and teacher, Jules Swales. The classes are sculpted around writing like you talk.
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An acolyte of practical miracles and the mystical magic of intuition and synchronicity, I hid that from most.
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My pearls were indigo blue. Their color symbolizes justice and wisdom. Before I watched Kamala Harris become vice president of the United States, I clasped my pearls around my neck.
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As I rounded a curve in West Virginia, the sign came into view. It was enormous, plastic, glossy red and blue, and it stretched to cover the side of a half-collapsed barn: TRUMP 2020.
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I was raised in a flat concrete suburb. I live in a flat concrete city. I belong here in this paved world and I am content. But I long for an Appalachian Fall.
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