Distance

Distance

Smoke rises from the house behind my own,

we share the same lot, sister trees,

a wandering creek.

We have heard one another

of a summer night perhaps,

a sneeze, a shout, a loud TV.

But never have we spoken, oh perhaps

a nod exchanged on walks around

the oval loop when I admire their grounds,

well-trimmed and doted upon, and I

see, on winter days, my own house

through the bare trees, its back,

with looming, empty windows.

I wonder if they wonder who I am,

what shared delights we have

in this separate life.

Two houses, divided by water,

and when I leave, or die,

we’ll have never known or shaken hands,

though we breathed the same air,

gazed at the same sky.

Author: Deborah Nash Ott
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Photo Credit: Peixuan Yu on Unsplash