Author: Olavia Kite

Noises come from the other side of the wall. It could be my neighbor’s fist against the concrete. I’m terrorized. A primitive form of communication, a request for me to erase my interference in his acoustic space—just when I thought I had finally appropriated a few cubic meters of air.

Bang, bang.
His drumming will sew my mouth shut. It will turn stringed instruments into mere fancy boxes. Sooner or later it will bid me to stop breathing, lest my existence is far too noisy for his comfort.

Bang, bang.
A chair squeaks. My neck crunches. Space, enter, double-click.

Bang, bang.
Is it him? Or is it my heart?

Life unfolds in front of me,
untouchable and limpid.

A murder of crows melts
into dizzy ripples.

Cold, wet hands
smudge the hot trails
on my cheeks.

I cannot reach down
for the sky.

Their bodies were still entwined when they looked up: there was a mirror on the ceiling. They had heard before that the sight would be gross, that they’d try to look away.

But it was nothing like that.

They couldn’t stop gazing, not an ounce of shame in their eyes. It was them, and nothing could be more beautiful.

She says that sometimes my cheeks look puffy when I wake up. Today is one of those days, so I smile and my nose goes all bulbous. I wish there were a way she could always warn me about this happening—or not; a way for her to look at my face every morning, every morning, first thing in the morning.