Erin Mastandrea

For K.

I saw the snow breathe in this otherworld of silence where ghosts travel in animal cloaks, light-footed and careful.

I was afraid to step further, afraid the snow would cry out or the sparrows would rise furiously from their secret places.

Tired farmhouses, their lights dimming, and memory like weathered bone can crack to pieces like ornaments in wind.

Headlights in Winter

Erin Mastandrea

102