The People Upstairs
Maybe their preemie no longer needs
incubating or maybe their laundry
needs hanging out to dry.
Maybe it’s time they stave off hunger
with dim-sum sunshine and oatmeal.
That’s the song I mean to
sing for them: Sunshine and oatmeal
and all the seeds of sorrow
tossed in the wind. The path with
heart and everything I want to blow
my nose with. I roll over
in the night and it reminds me to
straighten things out with
the neighbors. I don’t have
a problem with the neighbors.
They’re the ones who dug a hole
in the attic and thought
they’d come out downstairs.
Maybe they thought it saved them
from the safety net sweeping
through the cities but
this is not like that. I only want
the birthday cake they promised me.
I only want them to stay.
I only want to know their names.
Gerald Yelle has worked in restaurants, factories, schools and offices. His books include The Holyoke Diaries and Dreaming Alone and with Others. His chapbooks include No Place I Would Rather Be and A Box of Rooms. He lives in Amherst.
