Kate Northrop poem: "Night Drive"

                                                                          photo ©2013 Jarrod McCabe

Night Drive

                       

Shoulderless mostly, old

This is the road

You should not be driving

Not at night, at zero

Or well below,

Bone-stark, so cold

Each turn appears

As a figure in a dream

Sure, demanding:

Look, fields are rising--

And they are, the bright

Snow-stripped fields,

Like a shroud

Or a female voice

You never loved me

And that’s true

Even the furthest homes

Close enough

To your home

Where often in the dark

Down in the kitchen

The beams of headlights

Moving through the room

Moved through you

                                          --Kate Northrop 

                                             Northrop's last collection was Clean