What’s Left of Leaping, of Grace
Angie Hogan
A rack of ribs juts up
roadside, macabre sculpture
rising from the ditch.
Have you ever felt emptied
out like that (breathless, gut-
less, picked clean)? The car
rolls on, a body disappearing,
but something catches
in the rearview, shifty as fog,
sighs in its bone grate. |