by Roselle Chen

Near the Chrysler building breath exhales solid white beads. The air strings together these jumbled pearls and they trail from mouths in one frozen, elongated bubble. Underneath the tall steel formed at right angles, women walk in tight faces. Men are hunched over so that shoulders watch the cracks and lines in concrete. Winter breaks clouds, pipes, relationships. In minus two degree weather, clouds depart and the bright sun beats into nothing.


Roselle Chen is a slave to excel sheets but is planning her escape to documents with no grids soon. She is also the author of Sunrise.