1am Going Home by Julia Bindler

1am Going Home

The road pulled taut
ahead of me, stretched
like black elastic.

Snow rippled above it
like a black and white photo
of sunlight in a pool.

There went the dark nursery
where our ghosts walk, asking
the names of plants.

The philodendron’s corpse still lives
in my house, under a window,
no longer eating sunlight.

A glowing racoon
turned out to be
a toppled traffic post.

I considered the positives
of having nothing to lose.


Julia Bindler lives in Minneapolis with her dog, Lenny. She is currently participating in The Loft’s poetry apprenticeship program.

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