Screen

In New York when I sleep with the window
open I do it with the feeling of also being
ajar. The noises carom through the
apartment canyons and arise in me
a distrust of what I'll never fathom:
my neighbors are all strangers.

I grew up in three houses
in Houston. We never opened
windows, not even to shout.
We had central air. Outside
there were no noises to dread
only cicadas.

Other pains are left closed
for being wasteful of sleep. In France
the bats would come in, in Prague,
you'd never rest, hearing the
trains going and coming. I don't
know which scared me more.

In Jerusalem there is no air
-- so we hold our breaths --
is that not the narrative?

The windows never close
and at dawn when the minarets
sound, the ceilings warm with prayers
and held breaths.