upstairs

my neighbors upstairs 
are loud late at night.
their mouths leave bruises 
on my bed sheets. sucker fish
or fists. i count backwards
from 100 & start over again.
the numbers sit in between their
words like rosary beads or birds
on the chain link fence outside. 
they speak a language 
i don't understand
so i have to make up 
what they're saying. they're
saying beautiful things,
they're talking about
the boy down stairs who drives
an evergreen volvo & takes
the trash out late at night
on sundays. they love him,
they want to invite him
over & introduce him to everyone.
i respond & tell them
that i want to know them too,
put on my grey slippers 
& my robe. it's so late that
the alarm clocks have rolled over.
i stand outside their door 
& they welcome me. they've been
impatient, speaking louder &
louder in the hopes that i
would overhear.
we eat milano cookies &
their children walk on
the ceiling. they still speak 
a language i don't understand,
i let the words ripple over 
me like a cloud of winged insects,
glinting & twitching. 
we sit at the table & 
the man's wife makes popcorn
on the stove & i tell it's fancy
but she also doesn't understand 
the language that i speak.
we eat & everything gets stuck 
in my teeth. sun coming in
the blinds, i notice
they're all gone. i touch
the walls of their house
& discover it is much
the same as mine, crawling
back into bed with the covers
pulled around me, i blink 
& hear their plum pounding
voice again-- the blotches 
in my blankets, their voices.
this time i say they're praying.