The Road Home
Darkness turned white, leaned in close
there's a subtle weight to the air tonight
it fights my breath
The tendons just along my neck
grow tight with a new tension
I grip the wheel a little tighter
My eyes dart left, center, right, up, down
I watch for the glow of lights,
a landmark on a familiar road
I blink
startled by the feeling
one blink to the next, something is different
I can't place exactly where I am
on the road home
my headlights a narrow tunnel
Bits and wisps of white swirl,
something moving up ahead,
a shape
I slow for the impossible,
a fog man standing in the road
softly lit against the dark night
Bold, he beckons
there's a subtle weight to the air tonight
it fights my breath
The tendons just along my neck
grow tight with a new tension
I grip the wheel a little tighter
My eyes dart left, center, right, up, down
I watch for the glow of lights,
a landmark on a familiar road
I blink
startled by the feeling
one blink to the next, something is different
I can't place exactly where I am
on the road home
my headlights a narrow tunnel
Bits and wisps of white swirl,
something moving up ahead,
a shape
I slow for the impossible,
a fog man standing in the road
softly lit against the dark night
Bold, he beckons
Kristina Jacobs lives in Minnesota. Inside Invisible and Dawn After Dusk are her most recent poetry chapbooks.
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