Cover by James Dimas

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.

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