Ellie Zupancic

Times Light Kept Going

In my childhood bedroom,
there is indirect sunlight
through upturned blinds.
From under my parents’ closed door,
salt-lamp-orange fluoresces on
carpet six inches out, then stops. 
One half of the downstairs 
in an Iowa City townhouse 
glows pink, other half blue. 
Downtown, there is a house
and its upper level 
is constantly in moonlight.
A corner room in Chicago
opens up to sodium vapor,
deep yellows hit pavement.
From the interstate at midnight
moonlight glints half-
frozen water in the median.
In Tennessee, a barn’s
windows face east, bleak
light breaks glass. 
A high school science 
lab bears alkali, potassium
dies in pink and purple.
TV shines indeterminate 
around a corner wall in a Texas brick home
to where it yields dark. 
In my sister’s bedroom, 
moonlight cuts through blinds,
stripes slate-blue into shadows.
From a backyard, Christmas 
lights illuminate from the inside, 
out; tiny glowing. 
In Wisconsin, a neon sign glares 
into a koi pond and downwards, 
through basement windows. 
The red of an alarm clock glows 
in my brother’s old bedroom
when my mother sleeps there. 
Somewhere, a room is almost in complete
darkness, except for a smoke 
detector’s yellow light.

Ellie Zupancic is an interdisciplinary artist and emerging poet. She lives in Iowa City where she studies English & creative writing and serves as the Editor-in-Chief of Fools Magazine. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Canvas Literary JournalThe Apprentice WriterInk Lit MagFools Magazine, and Dream Pop Journal. Find her Twitter @misszupancic.