Apartment 204
Dear neighbor, Have you seen the pair nesting
your AC unit just right for an egg,
sharing in our loose joints, our scrap building
melted stucco closest to cliff or crag
To leave a note or toy snake on your mat?
We were not watching you behind the fan
the baby (dusty, pink) followed the cat
to where I read and eat olives from the can
The flock of us, we could not look away
For now the breeze shows our warren its love
The pools are closed and the grass holds sway
Perhaps if I wrote to you of a rock dove
you would be convinced to keep this peace?
We continue, scared perhaps, but free. Why cease?
Apartment 203
Heard you caught a mouse, scared quick but free
set loose by rain and deferred maintenance
so came your ceiling, so came half the tree
with apologies for their gracelessness
Would you play for us? Not even at church.
1-800-GOT-JUNK takes the songbooks
sprinting across lawn, narrow shoulders lurch
clean sneakers dredge the moat around our rook
Though I, too have my unplayed pianos
upright, kept warm in mail, attuned to loss
Tell me what came before and what follows?
To dress for the weather and care for the moss
Leave the rest for your brother, sweep the slate
Stay, stay - the blue behind the cloud will wait
Apartment 202
Stubbs, now you are the blue behind the cloud
no longer bearing threads, weight, or loose rings
The radiator metamorphic, proud
mourns your daylight companionship and sings
Where did you leave your metal folding chair?
Tell me why you took it inside each night?
I liked its company, seeing it there
running late, spilling coffee, chasing light
Your chair should have reclined and laughed a slack
rioted when you said something funny
should have been a quilt draped across the back
and the arms should have been stuffed with money
I am sorry I didn’t cook for you
On the peanuts, he only took a few
Apartment 104
I was watching your arm when he took them
three peanuts meant for squirrels, babies bundled
spied the cigarette blooming from its stem
the smell of smoke a joke loved and cradled
The downspouts and gutters are full of leaves
our windows open, trusting the bird song
to cover family plays and dropping eaves
catch temperance on the sill to get along
Dark draw curtains across the water mark
leave the mothers and their squirrels to break lead
tuck your worries in the walls peeling bark
sash weights and rail hitting apron at bed
to connect unconcerned by what’s expressed
nice to have been your uninvited guest
Apartment 103
Find us atop our stoop uninvited
waiting for our glove box benedictions
watching you walk together, delighted
by how bodies echo dispositions
I could only draw you from a picture
though you are as unhurried as the cat
I have never had an ear for scripture
no matter how many times it’s smoothed flat
A cloudy sky is not unusual
but you, consistent as constellations,
both console us with figures mutual
Which animals and what illustrations?
Cooled by car air it appears in your palm
a house with keys and windows to hold calm
Apartment 102
Welcome! You bought a house, windows and keys
pressed your hands and left relief in the pew
the triggers in the floors, eyes on the trees
the motes of dust, now they belong to you
Welcome! Surely you are unsure of what
you are not sure of, where it starts and ends
who the ghost is and what doors to keep shut
how worried to be about making friends
Welcome! I meant to write only to say
your voice may fall into the laundry room
please don’t worry; we’ll all see it your way
beneath your footfall it’s best to assume
stash quarters for calling your mother, pace
spiders listen with their legs, model grace
Apartment 101
Spiders could not cross your ceiling, harassed
by the thuds, he looked nothing like you do
only in ways I could not describe, dashed
over under the fence and through the view
The basement is cool in June and July
and we keep headphones in after night shift
flashlights close, best leaving daylight to spy
Are you keeping safe? Do you need a lift?
How terrible that the best things take practice
sleep, breath (that machine only needs a shove)
Check the dryer wool caught in the lattice
they migrate, neighbor, all the things we love
The light is caught where it should be resting
Dear neighbor, Have you seen the pair nesting?
Claire Gallagher lives in Chișinău, Moldova with her family.