She can only sleep in my arms. Every time I put her down, she coughs. We pace the floor all night long. Sometimes I sing to her, or hum, or talk, but sometimes I'm holding back tears as well.
The moon reflecting on the . . . it's just a river, really, but lagoon makes me feel I live a more romantic--and warmer--existence in in The Middle of Nowhere . . . anyway, the moon reflecting on the river, at least, can be counted on for a bit of prettiness amid the snuffly frustration of our nights.
Dim lights go on and off at various times all night next door. I spend some of these long hours wondering just what is going on over there. Too many odd things. Remind me to tell you about the birdhouse . . . with the wires snaking down the post. Too odd, really. But too tired right now . . .
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Neighbors
So far:
Man and woman next door, married, old, retired. Always, always home. He may go get a cup of coffee and a newspaper every morning, I'm not sure. Since the nearest store is about thirty minutes away, this would seem odd, but anything-to-get-out-of-the-house I do understand. Maybe that's it. They are always in their porch when I'm outside. It makes me a bit uneasy how they watch us, but they seem friendly enough. Can't remember their names--it's something so nondescript that it sounds fake. Jane and Joe Smith or something.
Across the street, a very, very old woman with a swimming pool that has no water in it. I think I saw her, or at least the back of her brown plaid wool coat, just as she walked in her front door once.
Around the corner, a young family. I think of Christmas card pictures when I see them. Really, can families like this be as perfect as they look? Surely there's some kind of drug addiction or embezzlement or something going on there.
Around the other corner, just many, many twenty-somethings. I don't know who lives there and who's visiting and who they are. But for a sleepy little cul-de-sac this far off the nearest byway, an awful lot of activity.
I don't know much about the others yet.
I wonder what they think of me. "Woman with baby, maybe thirty-five or forty. Haven't seen a man yet. Where's the baby's father?" Where indeed.
Man and woman next door, married, old, retired. Always, always home. He may go get a cup of coffee and a newspaper every morning, I'm not sure. Since the nearest store is about thirty minutes away, this would seem odd, but anything-to-get-out-of-the-house I do understand. Maybe that's it. They are always in their porch when I'm outside. It makes me a bit uneasy how they watch us, but they seem friendly enough. Can't remember their names--it's something so nondescript that it sounds fake. Jane and Joe Smith or something.
Across the street, a very, very old woman with a swimming pool that has no water in it. I think I saw her, or at least the back of her brown plaid wool coat, just as she walked in her front door once.
Around the corner, a young family. I think of Christmas card pictures when I see them. Really, can families like this be as perfect as they look? Surely there's some kind of drug addiction or embezzlement or something going on there.
Around the other corner, just many, many twenty-somethings. I don't know who lives there and who's visiting and who they are. But for a sleepy little cul-de-sac this far off the nearest byway, an awful lot of activity.
I don't know much about the others yet.
I wonder what they think of me. "Woman with baby, maybe thirty-five or forty. Haven't seen a man yet. Where's the baby's father?" Where indeed.
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