Su Zi

3719 Southport

Nathan is thrust across my engine

his skin black with smell

and I am in the house with no food

the house with the howling cat

the house with greasy broken furniture

that’s furry with dust

the house with someone else’s laundry.

why have you gone to an apartment lit by pink neon

and orange Chicago sky?

I am only a white face in a doorway

perhaps

perhaps

now I am counting to myself

and swallowing this new burning behind my ribs

counting to myself, seven years

and watching Nathan squirm against tires and rust

Nathan and his scratch-baked cinnamon cake

Nathan and his bulging tattoos

I am counting to myself of the seven years

with you Greg

seven years and separated

but not yet divorced.