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The woman upstairs

The woman upstairs
is not officially there, of course,
the mailbox announces only him.
But she is above us,

Water running, doors opening, footsteps,
the sounds of life proclaim two residents.
And we hear their bed,
the sound of their love.
We hear her cries,
of pain, I think, and not
of passion, sobs not of happiness
but of confusion.
And his patient voice speaking softly.
Explaining, always explaining
Now exasperated, now confused.
And her crying.
And then silence. .

© 1998 John P. Nordin. Do not copy without permission except to quote a portion in a review.

Last modified 7/12/99