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THE CITY IS A BODY BROKEN by Natalie Scenters-Zapico

Most days, the light falls so thick I don’t know what it is to be without it. At night we lie in bed away from each other, the moon so bright it is a scrim for the sun. When clouds come, monsoons flood freeways, trap old tires against barbed wire.

Most days, the light falls so thick
I don’t know what it is to be
without it. At night we lie

in bed away from each other,
the moon so bright it is a scrim
for the sun. When clouds come, 

monsoons flood freeways, trap
old tires against barbed wire.
Your body, a victim of erosion,

turns bone. I jump from our chainlink
bridge and only break a foot.
Which of us has become

the natural disaster? In bed, I blame
the fever, the sores that line my mouth.
But it’s my foot that’s swollen. I wrap

it in custom’s forms. Will I ever know
where you hide my money, or
the mountains where I hide your guns?

 

 

 

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About Natalie Scenters-Zapico

Natalie Scenters-Zapico
Natalie Scenters-Zapico is from the sister cities of El Paso, Texas and Cd. Juárez, México. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in The Believer, Prairie Schooner, West Branch, Crab Orchard Review, and more. She lives in Salt Lake City, UT.