The neighbor off to the market for bags of salad
leaves me alone with her baby monitor
I’ve set on my balcony jagged with wood
rain-rotted & scarred with yellow paint.
What mislaid dinner plan would warrant
leaving one’s baby in the crackling static
hands of a woman who perches on her balcony
nightly in nothing but stars & the oven
of July, pink as the innards of poultry—
I never owned a baby monitor. Could never
leave my babies long enough to need one.
Her baby sleeps for hours
the mother tells …