Residuum

Christopher Munde

Chambers St., NY; Fall 2002

Finally, you can die in an alley
And never be found, dried up
In the wind between the restaurants
And the offices and the scooped-out
Foundations. You can cry on
The subway again without
Drawing samaritans’
Compassion or pity like malaria,
Or you can just watch
The girl across from you
Cry, and as a ghost follow her
From metal to brick
To glass places and
Hate them, as you did before
The standing fog between worlds
Coated them in unearthly residue:
Asbestos, ash;
Them clean now, them lacking:
The glass, once looked to
For its chalk grey erasure,
Now only throws
Your old face back again.
Finally, now you can take her
At her apartment gate,
This girl who is
Forever across from you,
You can turn her
And do it, turn her windowed face
Toward you (you being the space
Between the buildings) and crawl
Inside to replace
Your wind-voided frame
With another’s, do it; you use
Her nails for this hopeless
Clawing, you use her mouth
For this begging.