by Barlow Crassmont

Sleepless nights were rare but since those immigrants moved in there’s hardly a weekend when I don’t wake up with heavy bags under bloodshot eyes it’s not only the noise it’s what they cook smell lingers for days in the hallways cumin cilantro chili carnitas corn rice plantains yams potatoes tomatoes onions eggplants squashes spinach zucchini green bell pepper aji dulce papelon and then there’s their children running up and down the stairs day and night kicking balls chasing each other screaming nonsense all the tenants constantly asking for quiet but reticence evades the building like frost in July worst part is when they celebrate their national independence building is swarmed by even more of their cousins uncles aunts grandparents stepsisters brothers hard to believe how many can fit in a two-bedroom unit I swear I felt the foundation shake last time they crammed generations worth of their family tree up there one time I saw the father by the dumpster in alley while throwing the trash he invited me over for dinner he seemed like a cheerful fella friendly enough I would’ve accepted but work was piling up that week told him let’s do raincheck to my surprise not twenty days later I found they’d moved out just like that their place now occupied by childless elderly couple who hardly makes a peep never cooks absence of familiar aroma and excessive constant silence has shattered all tenants’ existence we didn’t know how good we had it when our building was brimming with life and culture and sounds of active children playing compared to present mortuary where most are mindlessly staring at their devices if only I had accepted that invitation I could’ve exchanged meaningful contacts and maybe visited at some point now I’m haunted by more sleepless nights but only because I can’t adjust to this new ambience so I spend those hours kneeling next to bed with clasped hands hoping they’d return so far my invocations have fallen on deaf ears but it’s a numbers game if I keep at it I’m bound to get a reply like to be told to shut up and go to bed already.

Photo by Fons Heijnsbroek on Unsplash