Oh, Look What You've Done

You're the one in my building, right? You live upstairs? I wasn't in the mood for a laundry room chat; he always talks too loud, too much, he never lets you go and I was so tired. You have to seize the sleep when it sways past the edges of the jet lag, and I was losing my window. But he always weaves tales of the latest house gossip, and it is difficult not to listen. There's a new neighbor next door, where the weeping child used to live. Her perfume lingers in the hallway for an hour, he scoffs, but I hadn't even heard her move.

It seems you are out there, too. On these same streets, sharing the same haunts. I don't mistake another's frame for yours on the subway; I do not hear your voice when the phone rings. But I sense your steps in the dusky silhouettes of this city and that refuses to go away.

I try to wash my hands clean
of you
and I fail.