Midsummer Dream House

 

I Used to Know My Neighbors

I used to know my neighbors,
back when I lived in a four-story brownstone
on Beacon Street, near Kenmore Square.

There was the mathematics professor
who chatted with me in the hallway
most mornings before I went to class.
And once he opened his door
a bit wider than usual,
and I caught a glimpse of his studio,
filled almost entirely
with stacks of old newspapers.

There was the Berklee student
who smoked cigarettes so often
that I saw him taking drags
on the front steps
whenever I took my dog outside.
And once he laughed and asked me
if my dog smoked too, pointing down at her,
as she held an old cigarette butt
with one end poking out of her mouth.

There was the grad student a few doors down
who told me about her fiancé
and how they would marry in India
once he graduated medical school
and she finished her MBA.
It was an arranged marriage,
she told me, but they’d met several times,
and even though it made her parents happy,
she knew he’d make her happy too.

Down the hallway
was the first guy I ever slept with.
He helped me put together my bookshelf
the week I moved in,
gave me a French Press coffee maker
when I moved out,
then never spoke to me again.

 

Poetry by Caitlin O’Halloran

 

 

Caitlin O’Halloran is a biracial Filipino-American poet who studies in a poetry workshop taught by Katia Kapovich. She has a Bachelor of Arts from Boston University in Philosophy and History. Her work has been published in Vast Chasm Magazine, BarBar Literary Magazine, and Apricity Magazine. Website: www.caitlinohalloran.com. Twitter and Threads: @selfcaremaven