Today Pegman took us to Taşlıçay, Ağrı, Turkey. I scrolled around pictures for a while before finding this wonderful picture of blowing snow.
The old people say there are no ghosts left
that they disappeared after the great famine
took more than half the population of the village.
They are wrong.
On the edge of fields
I see ghosts
dancing in clothes so bright
they put the sun to shame.
Or, I hear them in the barn
telling jokes and laughing
until I think their sides might split.
If only they still had sides.
If only.
Sometimes these fragile ghosts
sit at my kitchen table.
I drink tea while listening to their stories.
Often I reach out to touch them.
Futile, I know.
I need no reminder.
They leave notes
We love you
Kindness is the root of happiness
Go to bed early
Feed the dog
I no longer have a dog.
But my children don’t know that.
Their memories are
from the times before
the soldiers came,
starving and mean.
Up From the Ashes 