Structural Integrity

The kitchen smells like burnt onions

and the slow, wet rot of the trash bag.

I pushed the window up and climbed out

onto the metal slats, feeling the bolts

groan in the brickwork.

The city doesn't look like much from here,

just a lot of people sitting in boxes.

I gripped the railing and my palms came away

coated in a fine, orange dust of rust,

the color of a sunset I missed

because I was busy washing a single fork.