Madeleine Wattenberg Aftermath There’s a pile of ashes in the sink. I hope that impermanence is the new way. I tried to climb out the fire escape, but instead met a bug swarm as I pulled at the screen. My apartment’s gears click— in this space the most time has travelled through me. You can see my hair piled in the corners, the little vacuum bleating its low battery, and over the stairs the smoke alarm’s steady red heart. Outside, a boy is calling for his lost dog and now I too know its name.