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.