[Plain Text Version]

To Live Here

you must be a friend of rain—the gummy kind

that puddles on the dented garbage cans

lining the alley tucked behind the iron gate 

where two boys climb a play structure

and imagine themselves as heroes.  You must not mind 

the rain sticking to your shoes on the subway steps 

or the way the light is sucked into buildings. 

To live here you must be a friend of curtains, 

and rooms without windows

or windows with lies, like the Beware of Dog sign 

in a house that has no dog, only a message on voice mail, 

referring to a dog that has long since died. 

To live here, you must lock the door

between you and the woman pressed against you 

in the elevator, her smells of make-up and perfume,

the pickles she had for lunch,

the secret longing you both share for light.

D. Dina Friedman has published widely in literary journals and received two Pushcart Prize nominations. She's the author of two young adult novels: Escaping Into the Night (Simon & Schuster) and Playing Dad’s Song (Farrar, Strauss & Giroux) and one chapbook of poetry, Wolf in the Suitcase (Finishing Line Press). Her short story collection, Immigrants, is forthcoming from Creators Press.