Airing Out

When I walk through my house 

I focus on the creaking of steps,

The settling of wood and pipes.

The ghosts comfort me. They

know the haunts that rack my

brain. They tell me: the wind knows the

answers. let in some air. But your dust

settles here and I’m scared to let it scatter.

So I ignore the tattered carpet. Were those

pigments ever vibrant? The ghosts

won’t tell me that. They say: be free.

But my dust will remain here. And my

daughter will walk through these halls

and wonder if the curtains always stood 

so still. And I will whisper to her:

open a window and see for yourself.

Winter 2022