They still haunt you long after they're gone

Steven Arnold (1943–1994), “Skeletons Taking Tea and Tarot,” 1991

Louisiana Cypress Swamps

(Part 1)

You see the eye shine of the deer but you don’t think deer are supposed to have 3 eyes

“This isn’t as bad as the blizzard of ‘78!” People say. There’s 27 inches of snow on the ground and you wonder if the elders from the ‘78 blizzard are real people or ghosts

The storm is coming so you better pick up milk, bread, and eggs. Only there are none left on the shelves. How will you survive, you wonder.

The lighthouse on the bay is coated in several inches of ice. The light can no longer beckon to ships, yet they still keep away from the coast.

The Edmond Fitzgerald echos across Lake Superior and you swear you can see her outline in the mist, but that can’t be possible. She sank in ‘75. They say Lake Superior never gives up her dead.

What’s in the pasties? Some joke that it’s humans. You hear yelling from the back room of the bakery. You take a bite. “It’s a Michigan tradition!” you hear someone sing.

It’s November 15th, school is closed as are all the stores. You are warned to stay inside and keep the doors locked, you’re huddled close with your family far from the windows, the hunting season has begun. Do not look out the windows. Do not leave your homes.

The horses on Mackinac Island are the same ones that have been there since the beginning of time. Everyone talks about the Grand Hotel, but they’ve never been there. ‘It looks nice’ they say. It smells like fudge and rotting meat.

The people in the U.P. chuckle and tell tourists that trolls is just a nickname for the people who live in the lower peninsula. There is a hesitance, a fear in their eyes though. They cannot tell the truth, the peace treaty would be broken and they know they would not survive another war with the creatures under the bridge.

Thousands of cars line the highway, snaking down I-94, I-96, I-75. they are waiting for the dark man to return from Ohio. He will distribute the fireworks. They call him the Phantom. No one has ever seen his face.

Across the river from Detroit is Windsor. You get to Windsor by bridge or by tunnel. Oh, not now, you can’t go now. But someday, you’ll go to Windsor. Someday.

There’s a road up in the Porcupine Mountains that leads to the End of the World. There’s signs leading up to it, warning people of how close they are. Yet so many never return.

Petoskey stones are found on the beach each morning arranged in the shape of strange circular sigils. No one knows what happens if you step in the center, but the life-like garden sculptures sold at every small town art fair offer some clues. Their stone eyes plead for you to help them.