“Pareidolia” by Kristin E. Anderson


The old taupe pathway
branches off into the canary
grasses – and fog.
A silver wood pitch – the
old barn roof –
looms in the field.
A person trap, or home for owls.

There is no map of this place
who knows how far –
or what way – it is between
islands. The hen house, the east
pasture; the well.
Stay away from the well.

The evergreen trees are far –
that much is known –
and you can mark the passage
of time by the height
of the stars.

A tallness that has augmented
since I can remember
and which will someday leave,
abandon the moon completely
to the sky.

A single cold lantern
to illuminate the black gel
of night.


Kristin E. Anderson holds a B.A. in English and creative writing from the University of Iowa, where she was the executive editor of Earthwords Literary Magazine. She lives and writes in Iowa.

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