Written by: Cyndi MacMillan

                          The fishbowl beckons, nightly.
                          Irony, really, since I live in one.
                          Yet      the windows         call,
                          Framed drama, lives displayed.
                          A gray man smokes, endlessly,
                          his      butt  drones         silent         
                          words and from here I can see
                          dread in his wife’s head shake. 
                          A TV,        flickering,       casts
                          shadows of loneliness.  Floors
                          of strangers, faces all familiar,
                          but       indifference        keeps
                          neighbors across dim hallways.
                          The highrise is aging, there are
                          frail       rust lines         on each
                          balcony railing. Even the moon
                          crumbles over time.  In the city
                          days          disappear          like
                          rent checks,  complete privacy
                          and secrets.  A widower works
                          out          as though           he
                          can run through the thick walls.
                          A single mom paces, phone to
                          her          ear and        her son
                          bounces a small, green ball to
                          hide himself.   No one expects
                          the            drunk           on the
                          tenth floor to jump.  They had
                          heard the arguments, but still
                          as we        looked       at truth,
                          and witnessed heart’s fragility,
                          each of us shattered with  his                    body.

                       *Based on a true event. 
                        A man jumped from the tenth floor in the apartment building 
                        across from mine. The event was kept out of the media. 
                        I was later told that his wife had left him that morning.