Annette Sisson

Daughter, Driving at Night

‌             I slide into bed, turn toward the curtains.

Outside, a clear midnight sky,
moon and dippers wheeling across

‌             the galaxy. I begin to drift. A girl

shrieks, frenetic particles of sound,
her voice so piercing it might

‌             have cracked the window. The cry

shivers the air again. I shake
myself, scramble to the front door—

‌             silver dusting the silent walk,

stars’ bent ribs of light.
From the screened porch in back

‌             katydids chant, crickets trill,

a tranquil night. Inside, my phone
jars the table—you’ve driven miles

‌             beyond home, whisper of gas in the tank,

your signal too faint for digital maps,
and you can’t tell left from right

‌             without Google. Parked on an unlit shoulder

you shudder, marvel that your call jostled
me awake. You don’t know the quake

‌             of your need had already torn me from the sheets.

Annette Sisson lives and works in Nashville, TN. Her poems have appeared in Valparaiso PR, Birmingham PR, Glassworks, and Rust and Moth, among others. Her book Small Fish in High Branches was published in 2022 by Glass Lyre Press.