you are the red dot
on the glass over the map
your fingers trace a path
from entrance to exit
you are the sound inside
a sleeping body
a family of six
the car stalled
the hazards blinking
we never don’t look over our shoulders
every form, a trick question
every map, a trap street
we huddle to inspect the smoke
rising from the engine
JAN-HENRY GRAY was born in the Philippines, grew up in San Francisco, and is an MFA candidate in poetry at Columbia College Chicago. He received the 2014 Jack Kent Cooke Graduate Arts Award. Gray's recent work is published in Tupelo Quarterly, Fourteen Hills, Puerto del Sol, Assaracus, and elsewhere.
