Now my neighbor through the wall playing piano, I imagine, with her eyes closed.
When she stops playing, she disappears.
I am still waiting for the right words to explain myself to you.
When there was nothing left to smoke, I drew on my lips with a pen until they were black.
Or is this what it means to be empty: to make no sound?
I pressed my mouth to the wall until I’d made a small gray ring.
Or maybe emptiness is a form of listening.
Maybe I am just listening.
~ Allison Benis White