One night, driving along Blue River Road, I’m startled and disoriented by the shock of headlights coming up over a hill. When you’re night blind like me, the vision blurs, and in that moment before clarity returns, you see only edges of images—here, a road sign; there, a sycamore—and feel suspended, not quite yourself, not quite alone.
Ghost Stories (to be read to her child, at night)
She was watching from the window
Arms out, hanging from the ledge
Reaching toward me—
Your uncle was still an infant—
And when she stepped inside
I saw that I …
Ode to My Oldsmobile
Night blue, the size of a walk-in closet,
so long, it was like driving a big fish,
back seat bustle finning behind.
My parents bought if from an old couple
Dog Walking at Night in a New Neighborhood
by Elisa Pulido
I open the door, only to discover this place, too, gets dark at night.
And, as I have not yet made the acquaintance of the street’s …
On This Street
rain is wetter, colder,
alley cats are hungrier, each day
breaking open like a crow-barred lock,
the sky a grainy screen, the windy corners,
and each night,
heavy husbands shut out …