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.
