October 1988

I am watching you.

The leaves are sweeping through your

studio apartment.

You just sit there rocking yourself

in the middle of the floor.

Wind from the open window

make tears cold on your cheek.

I am only the neighbor across the way,

but I feel I know you

like a sister.

Now I see the blood, your blood,

staining the floor.

Didn't you have someone to talk to, or did you stage

the scene for me?

You could've asked nicer.