Long Road Home

how it feels to be touched,
dawn morning & awful april snow,
i hold out & out &
out, your fingers like a broken
rune, unintelligible glyph,
i can’t read you

‘it doesn’t have to hurt’
this is what i was told, evening
like spoiled plums, your face
healing from another ugly
altercation with a barfly’s
heavy fist, grinning like
a grim reaper

as if i wasn’t there,
hopelessly vigilante,
heart sluggish & making thuds
like a wrist watch

i have become grateful
for nights, backseat of cars,
the wide
imperfect moon
making it look
like you’ve got something
worth living for

you’re pressing your hand
against my face & sighing,
the rain making me feel
like cracked tarmac,
filling every scarred path
with that look you give me
when you think i’m
not looking, when i’m
trying not to look

By Emma Bosacki

Biography:

Emma Bosacki is a poet and storyteller living in Toronto, Ontario. A soon to be student at Queen’s University, she is studying a degree in both English and Classics. Her inspiration comes from other Canadian writers such as Anne Carson, Michael Ondaatje, and Timothy Findley. She lives with her girlfriend and two cats.