Today, a new poem by Chris Emslie.

___________for J

We slipped out of the
night while the night blazed
in us. Friday was a cold white
skylight on your cheek, every boy
a chair pushed out into the room.
The interiors of taxis erased
our shadows, rain
closing behind the red
afterlight, feeling for
bruises or kicked-off
underwear. Grit on the tongue
was a quiet glory,
taste of salt
shining hot as new glass.
Weekends were three
days to allow for
the stretch into guilt. Time
to rethink each mass
exodus of gestures.
I got a letter from the night: this
is not absolution.
We’re still giving
all the good stuff away.


CHRIS EMSLIE is assistant editor at ILK journal. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in PANK, Poetry Is Dead and Sixth Finch, among others. He lives in Scotland, mostly on the railways.

Tags: , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Please fill the required box or you can’t comment at all. Please use kind words. Your e-mail address will not be published.

Gravatar is supported.

You can use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>