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<h1>Life & Breath </h1>
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<p class="summary" style="color: #000;">[Originally Published in Issue 1] </p>
<p class="byline">Kylie Bergfalk </p>
<p><span style="font-family: Georgia;">In the morning<br>
I stand by the kitchen window <br>
and contemplate the chaos:<br>
ashes in the sink,<br>
tea leaves on the counter,<br>
and a sticky grey grime<br>
coating the stovetop<br>
which was once white.<br>
This is where my flatmate takes<br>
his morning, afternoon, evening smokes. <br>
Countless cigarettes pass the time,<br>
filling the moments between<br>
the banal content of our lives.<br>
And as I scrub the stovetop,<br>
exercising elbow grease,<br>
I wonder if this tacky skin<br>
lines my lungs<br>
after months of living in a city of smokers.<br>
I wonder how thickly it coats the lungs of my flatmate,<br>
and his medical school friends,<br>
and the Istanbullus who smoke in doorways,<br>
on the street, and<br>
near the open windows of restaurants,<br>
who pause to inhale and exhale as the world rushes by.<br>
Do they take solace in this smoke signal?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Smoke embodying breath,<br>
betraying life,<br>
between their lips.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The man in the tweed
jacket<br>
with one energetic eyebrow <br>
steps out of the crowd spilling -<br>
shouting, laughing, striding, pulling children and pushing each other - <br>
into Kadiköy from the Eminönü ferry<br>
and claims a spot near the flower seller, <br>
to extract a cigarette from an inner pocket. <br>
Here, for a minute or two, he is outside of the mélange. <br>
He puffs on the cigarette and fixes his gaze on the Bosphorus horizon,<br>
where birds wheel above ferry wakes and Aya Sofya surveys shipping traffic.<br>
The light at the intersection on the wharf-side road changes.<br>
A bright green truck bedecked with flowers and carrying a coffin,<br>
a hearse in the Turkish style,<br>
rumbles past. <br>
He takes a long drag of his cigarette.<br>
Smoke fills his lungs and leaves, depositing a layer of soot.<br>
Each breath brings him closer to death.<br>
The cloud of tobacco particulate matter is carried away by the wind.<br>
Smoky breath follows smoky breath<br>
but he is still breathing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia;">He exhales a stream of
black smoke,<br>
coughs without flinching,<br>
and raises the cigarette to his lips again.</span></p><p><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Photo credit to Nate
Hovee</span></em></p>
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