287 South by Zachary Lundgren

Took us out of town, out
to the hills and barns and acres stretching
beyond our eyes. We never knew

where the properties stopped
but the split-rail fence on the side
of this gravel road

reminds me of the nail I forced
like a kiss on a stranger
through my hand. I couldn’t write

for weeks but God, I could drive
south out of town and there are no
traffic signals out here

except for one caution light flashing
yellow, yellow
through this evenings death. Yellow.

I’m not driving anywhere
but south – the hay on either side
rolled into beauty. My hand

pulses sometimes, like an old heart
misplaced. I know this.
The caution light sings this way

Zachary Lundgren is a MFA student in poetry at the University of South Florida. He received his BA in English from the University of Colorado at Boulder and grew up in northern Virginia. He has had poetry published in several literary journals and magazines including The Louisville Review, Barnstorm Journal, The Tule Review, Barnwood International Poetry Magazine, and the University of Colorado Honors Journal, was nominated for the 2012 AWP Intro Journals Award, and was awarded the Estelle J. Zbar Poetry Prize in 2012. He is also a poetry editor for Sweet: A Literary Confection and a founding editor for Blacktop Passages.