I’m curious why you have binoculars hanging
from your neck on a faux pearl string.
I kind of hope you’re not looking past
the swelling dawn to watch tenants
in the student building across the street
eat dry cornflakes with their fingers,
a buffering screen in front of them.
Not that I know anything, but if you wait
until dark, you might be able to see
into their half-furnished, unintentionally
ascetic living rooms even without the binoculars,
provided the blinds aren’t drawn, though
it seems like they always are.

I’ve lived in three apartment buildings and
have known exactly none of my neighbors.
Sometimes, as I’m locking my front door,
I hope one of them will pass in the hallway
just so I can see what they look like. I hear
their music, their breakups, their snoring, but
I don’t know their names, their faces. Sometimes,
as I babysit my boiling pasta, I hear footsteps
outside, and I run to the peephole for a glimpse.
I never see anything but the beige wall
and stained carpet, and my water boils over.

I think what I’m trying to say is
the binoculars might not be enough.
You may have to enter the building
and sit in the hallway, waiting for someone,
anyone, to emerge. They have to appear
at some point, don’t they? If you give me
some signal, look at me looking
at you for long enough, I can take
the elevator downstairs and let you in,
and together, we can find out who lives
beside me. Just give me a sign.

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Header photograph and artwork by Jordan Keller-Wilson