Driver

Bank of golden rod, bank of tall

grass: the doe and fawn

 

by the roadside quake, or

don’t, while the cars pass fast

 

and eyeless. Lidless headlights,

hatless drivers. The dog

 

in the median might be a stray

but he looks like a wolf

 

from here: white ruff of long hair,

blue eyes like signals

 

blink before each driver.

If you stop to gather

 

yourself, will you

feel the chaff fill your lungs

 

or does it happen

 

so quickly? I fail to react

to so many attendant things.

 
 
 

 

Julia Heney received her MFA from the Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University, where she taught creative writing and literature. Her work has appeared in Devil’s Lake, CutBank, Sixth Finch, and elsewhere.