X as a Function of Distance from Ignatz

MONICA YOUN

(she opens the door)

(he is twelve inches

away) her fingers

still splayed across the

battened-down brass latch

of his sternum (she

closes the door) (he

is eight feet away)

her palm skids down the

banister clings to

the fluted globe of

the finial (he

is twenty-eight feet

away) (she opens

the door) the black air

is fast flowing and

cold (she closes the

door) she clutches her

thin intimacy

tight under her chin

and trips down the steps

(he is forty feet

away) the stiff wind

palpably stripping

his scent from her hair

from the numb fingers

she raises to her

mouth a cab pulls up

(she opens the door)

she bends the body

hitherto upright

(she closes the door)

the cracked brown vinyl

(he is ninety feet

away) biting the

backs of her thighs red

blotches suffusing

her cheeks I’m sorry

please stop she says (he

is four hundred feet

away) please stop the

cab (she opens the

door) the cab stops she

pushes a twenty

through the slot (he is

seven hundred feet

away) (she closes

the door) the husk of

something dry and light

falls to the sidewalk

crumbles away (she

opens the door) (he

is two feet away)

(she closes the door)