strip

Poetry | Nathaniel Chew

nothing* in the old mall still makes me draw

breath like I used to. no glory or death

to court in the windspent parking lot, no

body to leave a searching spraypaint prayer.

already I mistake the facelessness

of thrift store mannequins for mine, can’t feel

the burn of slushie on my palm, the hush

of thursday in the air, the weight of dusk.

closing time another muttered dimming

of secondhand light—I pull up, shutter.

* only some days, pushpinned before the map,

  I trace the maze with eyes starved for vital

  signs, dying for triangulation, find

you are here you are here you are still here