Poem of the Week | Language by Vicki Wilson
When you drive at night, you can
look into people’s homes,
into lit rooms
through windows.
You might see a TV show
they’re watching,
a meal,
or an argument.
When you drive in winter,
you can see
behind the deciduous trees
into the land beyond
in a way that you can’t in summer.
There might be a rusted car in the brush,
a building
you never knew was there before.
It’s not chance that our words
symbolic for sadness
— like night or winter —
also reveal.
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Cover photo by James Dimas on Unsplash.
