The Long Road

Amanda Huminski





The busses have stopped, so we walk.

It’s good for us to shiver

and sober up, this mile to your house.

We cross the second bridge,

count out street numbers like

secrets. Odds are confessions.

Evens, forgiveness.

Halfway there, we stop for pie,

hold hands across the table. Your

long hair and my long hair

elicit stares. This is just the night talking

and if the sun rises before we