by Mariela Flores ’23
My bed is placed right by a window.
My window brings in the cold air in December.
I wake up with a stuffy nose & a scratchy throat.
It’s as if I had been yelling the night before, maybe in my dreams.
Screaming to be let out from the confines too close to a window.
If I had some say, the window would keep the cold air out, and I would be warm.
The curtains made by the tired hands of my mother,
would grab the air by its windpipe and smother it gone.
I would know nothing of it; I would be in the bed, on the side of the window sleeping.
There is too much noise outside of my window.
Sirens from the police station a couple streets over,
a voice from the house next door yelling for “John” to come home.
I wish she’d give up calling, I don’t think he’ll ever come.
If I had some say my window would drown out the sounds until they were just a hum.
But my windows are paper & the sounds rip right through.
My window is next to my bed & birds sit outside the fire escape & sing.
I try to hold onto that sound, but I peek out behind the curtain and the birds go away.
One day, when I have a say.
My windows will keep me warm,
and the sounds won’t be too loud.
I will open my window slightly,
and the birds will sing their song.
They won’t leave,
they won’t go,
they’ll just sing.