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About this poet

Kate Northrop is the author of Clean (Persea Books, 2011).  She teaches at the University of Wyoming and lives in Laramie, Wyoming. 

Iowa

Kate Northrop

You imagined yourself
There on the overpass
Leaning through snow
Further toward cars

Their outlines still dark
Their headlights
Locked by distance
Then opening as if

Cautiously the beams
Lengthening over the median
Onto leaves the underside
Of certain leaves

And the drivers inside
Each face described 
By shadow each
Finally simple the skin

Lit by the vehicle's instruments
In the glow of the dash
The faces you'd dreamed of
Then gone beneath you

Leaning over the highway
Further toward cars
Toward headlights
Opening in the snow

From Clean, published by Persea Books. Copyright © 2011 by Kate Northrop. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

From Clean, published by Persea Books. Copyright © 2011 by Kate Northrop. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

Kate Northrop

Kate Northrop

Kate Northrop is the author of Clean (Persea Books, 2011).  She teaches at the University of Wyoming and lives in Laramie, Wyoming. 

by this poet

poem
The shadows of the couple 
	enter the dark field, cross
silent as a seam

having left at the center
a white box, white
as a box

for a birthday cake.  Inside,
the baby.
Abandoned there

in the tall grass,
in the night wind,

he wants for everything: food, warmth,
	a little
baby hope.

	But the world
swirls
poem

                                   (tired and high-pitched)

 

Ghosts have been tied into the trees.
At dawn they pivot
In the wind slowly.

Where the moon windows in
I am of those
Who can’t stand it

Kept awake, humming with trucks
While anything lunar
Won’t rut,