p o e m s

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Heather Burns

mile marker 25


Am I on danger’s road, thoughts in motion
Toward the washed-out bridge around the blind curve?
Quick, choose between careen and caution,
Count what I want most, what I’d lose, now swerve
To miss the fox and clip my ghost instead.

I should recognize this steep embankment,
Where the car sped and spun, could gain no tread
And flipped, like all other accidents meant
For those who think them. The mind, drunk-driven,
Can stay stalled all day and still cause a wreck.

I say stop here, I said stop here, driver,
Let me out, alone I’ll trace the trek
To the site marked by a weathered-wood cross,
Past the highway’s safety ramp that I missed.

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