Jane Andrews, Diagnosis

Jane Andrews

It’s like the time
you hit the dog on the highway
late at night, driving back
from the beach.

She turned her head
toward us,
eyes reflecting green
in the beams.

One lane coming,
one lane going,
through a marsh
of hidden peepers

and a shudder
passed through the car
into my chest.
Our daughter woke.

“What’s going on?”
We did not look at the road
behind us. Or at each other.

We never stopped moving.

Previous | Table of Contents | Next

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s