WHAT
I HEAR
by
Nina
Kallen
Airplane
noise.
No,
a specific plane, with a specific destination,
With
specific passengers who don’t know me.
Whining.
No,
a specific child with a specific intonation
Making
specific complaints about my failures.
Traffic.
No,
a specific car pulling out of a specific driveway
Of
a specific house next door to mine.
Voices.
No,
specific neighbors walking down a specific street
To
get to their specific job, enjoy . . .
Or
do they?
Enjoy
the flowers in my garden?
Or
are they enjoying each other?
Are
they friends? A couple?
Friends
who want to be a couple?
Or
is it that one of them wants to be a couple
And
the other one just wants to get to the stupid bus
And
she’s happy enough for a little company from time to time
But
if only he would stop leaving his apartment at the same time that she leaves
hers,
Every
single stinking morning.
She
stops warily as a car starts to pull out of a driveway.
Will
the driver see them and let them pass?
He
does, with a grimace that could mean he’s sorry he didn’t see them earlier
Or
could mean he’s sorry he has to stop for the damn pedestrians.
He’s
late. Again. His boss is a nasty piece of work.
No
kids, so what can she possibly understand,
Of
the hassle of getting out of the house on time each morning.
Finally
they are safely past,
And
he pulls into the street.
It’s
not quite warm but he opens his window
To
get rid of the smell of his daughter’s boyfriend’s cologne.
He
regrets it immediately.
“I
don’t want to walk. You’re so mean. Why
can’t you drive me?
Everyone
else’s mom drives them.”
He
doesn’t know the neighbor kid’s name,
But
he sure knows her voice.
As
he closes his window to drown it out,
the
girl looks up to the sky.
Her
mom complains about the airplanes,
but
the girl likes them.
She
would like to fly somewhere.
Anywhere,
really.
The
arctic – or Antarctica?
She
can never remember which one is which
But
it doesn’t matter because she loves both polar bears and penguins.
She
waves to the people in the plane.
The
boy staring out the window can’t see her.
The
cars look like toys and the houses like dollhouses.
He
wishes he could find his father’s house, but it’s hard to tell
What
town they are flying over.
It’s
hard to tell
Exactly
when he will see his father again.
He
closes his eyes,
Lulled
to sleep by the loud rumble
Of
the airplane’s engine.
