Ginger Yifan Chen
this city will breathe again this city will breathe again
the fog creeps past the window at night,
my new roommate sticks his head out &
breathes in & points, “the fog” he says, at
the marked boundaries of the streetlight,
at the dragon’s breath of the sea.
my new roommate leaves boxes of pizza
on the shared kitchen counter my new
roommate smokes at the front steps my
new roommate cooks better than my
parents ever did my new room
peeks out to rows of empty windows. people
are leaving because of the air, the thing in
the air we don’t talk about & my new room
mate & i keep our distance in the kitchen,
the tile-topped island protects us.
i eat his pizza & i think of high school again,
of playgrounds empty of children but occupied
by teenagers (us), i think about how i will always
love this goddamned city. my new roommate
points & i turn my head & the bus passes by (the 5)
and the powerlines spark &
i remember the field & the park near Austin’s
house, the bleachers by the always-empty baseball
field (much like the underpopulated swings) & i
wonder when Je ́sus told Christine he loved her &
when she loved him back &
i wonder wonder wonder when the city will feel
alive again when i will move without fear again
when the city will breathe again its ugly dirty breath
its beautiful cold foggy salty breath its clam-chowder-
from-the-pier smell-of-sourdough taqueria-california-
burrito shrimp-dumpling-take-out breath, its sea-howl-
that-hits-me-when-i-cross-Cabrillo-St-breath.
i wake up at 6am to some neighbor’s alarm,
loud for 15 minutes and echoing through gray street,
i walk up the hill again run up the hill again breathe up the
hill again, i huff with cabbages in my backpack, with fish sauce
& bamboo shoots in chili oil in my backpack, i lock my
door again i lock my door again i close my door
i eat my new roommate’s pizza till i am full to bursting i
close the window when i hear wet coughs outside i stay
& i stay & i stay still inside & it rains & we have a one-day
heatwave & the sun & the fog they come & come & they
go & go & go & i am still in love i still love you i still love you
& i’m sorry i left i’m sorry i left i’m not sorry i left & please tell me
tell me tell me do you still love me, san francisco?
—Submitted on 09/12/2020
Ginger Yifan Chen is a recent graduate of Chapman University in Orange, California. Her poetry has appeared in the undergraduate art and literary magazine Calliope, The Underground Experimental Zine (also at Chapman), and Kelp Journal.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.
If you enjoyed today’s poem and you value What Rough Beast, consider making a donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit poetry press.