It is quiet here
It is quiet here.
Beyond the noise of the boy stumbling up the stairs
clambering for his keys after another night
of being twenty-one,
past the sounds down the hall of a movie played obnoxiously loud,
around the corner from the grumpy old pipes
muttering and sputtering to no one in particular,
lies a girl and me.
Why am I there except that I know she seems to rest when I am.
So against the pleas of my confusion,
I stifle my woes so as not to disturb her,
and in the din of all of this,
she finds sleep.
This poem is about:
My family
My community