by Christina Lee

Out by the trash bins, a man flags us down,
says he’s our upstairs neighbor,
wants to apologize for all the noise.

I know it’s loud, he says.
My family all came to visit and now
they can’t get home.

He has a bandanna tied around his neck
like a jaunty cowboy.
We have our scarves.
I reach for mine but don’t lift it,
just hold the ends.
I estimate the space between us, step back a foot.

Trevor and I stutter,
speak over each other:
Oh, no it’s alright.
We are sleeping fine.
It’s just during the day.

I hear my voice, tinny and strange,
like a little kid playing grown-up.
He’s the first stranger I’ve talked to in a month.

What are you doing up there, though?
Trevor asks, unable to help himself.

I’m working on some projects,
our neighbor says,
doing some building.
And my teenage son and his cousins,
well, they get restless...

Ah, we say.

We’ll really try to keep it down,
he says.

I point to my swollen belly, laughing:
We’ll be the ones making the noise soon enough.

He asks and we tell him,
a little boy.

My son is 18, he says proudly.

We smile, nod, introduce ourselves.
His name is Jarman.
All three of us lean in on reflex for a handshake,
then jump back, chuckle,
drift off with awkward waves.

Were we too nice? Trevor asks,
out of earshot.
Maybe? I say.

We walk back through
the early spring evening
with its unreal sheen.
Golden and perfect,
oblivious as ever to human loss.

Back inside, we hang our scarves by the door,
wash our hands while humming
the songs that help
us keep count, keep clean enough.

The ceiling above us creaks and buzzes,
as usual, as if alive.
Just as mysterious, but somehow softer,
almost comforting now, these
snippets of songs we don’t recognize,
scattered footsteps, sudden laughter.

Christina Lee has published poetry and essays in Prairie Schooner, Cream City Review, Stirring, Tin House’s “Broadside Thirty,' The Seattle Times, and elsewhere. She teaches and coordinates education programs at Seattle Pacific University, and is also a creative writing teacher in Seattle Public Schools through the WITS program. She lives with her husband and her two month old son.

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