off from the highway,
deer gather in the safety of the dark;
among them stands a figure,
towering, broad, cow’s skull barely visible
in the blurry distance.
The flash of the brights
on this old rusted truck do no good
in turning him away, though the deer
crane their necks and raise their ears,
stumbling over one another.
The man among them burns a terrible
dread into this liminal space;
he is unnatural, yet the natural world
embraces him with such fondness,
hiding him away in the blink of an eye.
Do Not Look In The Back Seat.
Heather Drouse is a freshman studying Creative Writing with the hope that she will be able to find work in editing or teaching related courses in the future. Most of her work consists of free form poetry based on urban legends she heard growing up in farm town Michigan, as well as her personal experience with exploring the natural world.