In the highway's curve, in the swept
light that precedes the car, I am
coming home. I imagine you
safe, enfolded in the blue quilt.
I know you'll have left a lamp lit
as a pact with the fear I have
of stumbling, of entering the house
asleep to find no one I recognize.
I pull the wheel against the gravel's slide.
There are more and more moments like this:
the key hesitates in the lock and I cannot
remember what side of the night I travel on.
— Anne M. Doe Overstreet
author of the upcoming Delicate Machinery Suspended