We Live Here | QLRS Vol. 3 No. 4 Jul 2004

We live here.

On the eleventh floor of the hundredth twenty-fifth block,

behind the first black door next to the second grey lift.

The one marked with the crucifix, jesus and the dust,

a little thing we salvaged from our old place

as a counter to the neighbours’ talismans.

One, nailed to their door like ours and

the rest loose on their money plant,

flutters for attention, trying to convert the wind.

Like everyone else, we’ve never introduced ourselves,

or touched hands, or come closer to saying anything than

the slightest hint of our most reluctant smile,

but imagine that the joss they burn on the altar outside,

to their furious God, bearded and well-armed,

with an equal coat of dust

will one day burn us all down.