And Now, the Road
by JENNE' ANDREWS
And now.  Winter revealed
In the headlights:
The road a scar cutting
Through a white body

And the foal-heavy mares
At the fence
The ragged breath
Of those who turn tail and hooves
To an enemy

As if sub-zero
Were an arctic predator
Waiting
In the deeps of the night

Sub-zero
The road a scar
The scar on the driver’s wrist
The wheel in the driver’s hand.

In the barrio
Someone sleepless
A train far off
The eighteen wheelers
Cutting in from the freeway
Their load of winter calves
Calling

We too
Are wounds
We by the weight of our hunger
Deepen the scar


ii

Here we are in the white pelt
Of the snowy night
Now
We can say that the road
Is a scar cutting through time

You and I
Make a black asphalt road
Between us
We make a wound in the earth
And we are the earth

And we are the body of the night
When the builders of the roads
Appear on our tongues

I wrap myself in the night’s
Scar; I say
This is not a hard black road
It is silk, an illusion

And then I am a scar, weeping
And you are my road.
JENNE' ANDREWS has been heralded by Tom McGrath, Patricia Hampl, Maxine Kumin and others as a signature lyric poet.  National Book Award winner Robert Bly brought out her first collection, In Pursuit of the Family, Minnesota Writers’ Publishing House, in 1974.  Her first book-length collection, Reunion, won the admiration of Christopher Howell, Lynx House Press, who published it in 1987 and who still teaches it. Her poems have appeared in The Ontario Review, The Seneca Review, The Colorado Review, The Lamp in the Spine, and many other journals; she is a literary fellow of the NEA, former Poet in Residence of the St. Paul Schools, earned advanced degrees in creative writing at Colorado State University. Andrews posts new work at La Parola Vivace.