Ghosts

By Anne Marie Wirth Cauchon

I could tell you it started in Jerusalem, the center of the world, where I stood looking at the foundations, stood at the crossroads, and the junction with the Western Wall. But in fact, it started here, in Joe’s house. A clapboard cabin, no insulation and filled with ghosts. At first Joe thought I’d been conjured by them, the ghosts, that I was a sympt…