The House of Ash, 2024

A poem about the death of a friend.

The stone chapel on Mission, Fayetteville (2024; taken on Tmax 3200 film)

Thanks to the new subscriber

Mike Rusch

, whose amazing podcast—The Underview—I mentioned last week. Mike is a dear friend. I’ll be highlighting his work in the days to come. In the meantime, follow his podcast (especially if you enjoy Stegneresque stories about place, particularly the Ozarks). As a bonus, I’ve opened last week’s post, “Old Man Wayne and the Price of Progress,” to non-subscribers. Enjoy.

If you are a non-subscriber, consider joining Mike and others who make this work possible.

As always, no AI was used in the writing or images contained in this piece.

Ash Wednesday, 2024

Last night, I made my way to the front of the church where a woman in red stood with a small container of gray ash. I see her, an upperclassman from my high-school years, and I remember the way she danced—long, fluid, the grace of eighteen. She is in her late forties now, and she wears the years with dignity. She does not remember me, a lowerclassman, an ambiguous character, an extra in the story of her high school years.