Neighbors
I remember them walking,
in our neighborhood, by the houses.
There are so many houses in so many rows.
I wonder how people are living inside them.
How does someone live?
What does it mean to live?
Does it mean not to die?
What candles do they choose to not burn?
Where do they stand in that living room?
How do they live, in the living room?
What do they talk about behind the piano
in the room with no chocolate?
Where do they keep their keys
in a drawer or in a pocket?
What’s in the junk drawer?
Do they still have a landline?
Do they correct people when they say
their name wrong?
What music do they like in the background
when they fight at the dinner table
about who should take out the trash?
And why global warming would be solved
if we recycled the trash.
But who will go to the recycling center?
Which one of them says thank you more?
Which one apologizes?
Do they sing in the shower,
or eat ice cream for breakfast on Saturdays?
In the middle of the night when they can’t sleep
do they watch re-runs or infomercials?
What do they order online and what do they
look like when it comes to their doorstep?
If I were to come to their door, would they open it?
What is their favorite smell?
What do they smell like?
I want to know every intimate detail
of these beings on my block.
But we live with walls, lawns, and fences.
We do not know each other or ourselves.
We do not even know why we don’t talk.
We have never ventured out of our own windows.
To tell someone I can see you.
I don’t know your name, but I know your face.
nina