Gravel-Washed — Nathaniel Wilder

I could have this

This charcoal sketched existence at the edge of the world

Two dogs running across the snow

over deer bones and carcasses of small rodents

A trailer filled with the broken spines of first editions

They always smelled of wood fires

and hard cider on Thanksgiving

The horses are buried across the property

and the house is said to be haunted

but the children aren’t here to be frightened

Instead the blue-tick screams late at night

chasing away whatever spirit or coyote has wandered on

from the auxiliary road tracing North Carolina

or the Tennessee laurels above