The dirt driveway that leads up the hill to Lizzie’s house is marked by an enamel sign that reads “Lucky Pines.” I remember when I first saw it. It was the first time I’d stopped by to drive Lizzie to school early one fall morning in our senior year of high school. It’s been … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 5: Lizzie
I’ve wondered for a long time now what it meant to be Joseph Cressy’s grandson. I’ve written a lot about him since he died six years ago. On the night his lungs failed, I found myself in the front yard of my parents’ house on a swing hanging from the branch of a maple tree … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 2: Joseph
Chapter 1. Haunted. My childhood bedroom was on the second story of the house which now belongs to my mother. The room was against the outer wall so that the slope of the roof was that of the ceiling of my bedroom. In winter it was always the coldest room in the house. I used … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 1: Haunted
I have yet to depart the many mastheads of Falmouth Harbor, and though the ferry has carried me to and from the Island, it has never carried me across the sea. That is not to say that I have not traveled. I have been far and wide in my town; found the hidden places like … Continue reading False Lights
I saw a photo of you in an ocean-going canoe. Not one designed for it, instead, it was the old beat up one that you and your sisters keep among the brush and the sand dunes. The one meant for a New Hampshire pond, made of cherished and dented aluminum. I saw you among the … Continue reading The Summer Triangle and a Land of Abandoned Lake Houses
In beeswax leather, and in morning frost, I can find you still. Here, in the garden, beside the snow drifts that look like the sight of some ancient avalanche, where we lost three skiers last winter. I am waiting with a steaming mug of something cowardly. In Woods Hole, by the bakery that my grandmother … Continue reading Ode to Steadman
Ryan Shockey Davis 