Sarah D. Silvey

 

My neighbors

raise their voices to each other

at their front door

on a Saturday morning.

She shuts him out.

Let me in, he says.

Lana. Lana. Lana.

He calls her name

gently, patiently

with a trace of humor

and a deep seated

carefully masked

trace of Fear.

It isn’t long

before she opens the door.

He goes inside

acting

very

calm.

As if the most precious thing he had was

not

hinged upon his graciously handling

the delicate situation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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