home strikes like a hammer,
a shock of suburbia,
a roaring clip of snow where
nobody uses the right tires.
gone with the rainy days: back
through the airports to the ice,
the funerals & the end times.
the smell of gas and a film of
oil on your fingers when you drink
cheap wine.
no one asks how you are, but everyone says hello,
smiles through the snow globes
and mixes bad coffee with diner
food: eggs, hashbrowns, forks: devoured.
the mountains crests on the edge
of the sunrise
i keep wondering why this place
isn’t home.
Natalie Carberi is a fourth-year History and Russian studies student. She has previously published in the McGill Creative Tribune. She's particularly interested in themes of home, change, and identity.