We share a wall
and some sounds.
I can hear
your cat pounce,
your phone ring.
I hear you sing
in the shower
when we are sharing
hot water. Everytime
I break a glass
I imagine you might
knock to ask
if I’m alright.
You never do, though
maybe you might.
I think I’ve heard you
having the flu, smelled you
one whole Tuesday afternoon
preparing a stew and apple pie.
Heard you cry once too.
Many times
I’ve been moved
to meet you, but
instead stayed glued
to our wall.
