When her relatives from the south
came up for a visit,
they lamented her sorry state,
having to live in that little box,
having no fields nor trees,
having no hills to look toward.
She never told them
how she didn't miss those things,
how she would lie awake at night,
her apartment window wide open,
and listen to the city
like she was listening to birds,
like she was listening to hymns,
like she was hearing a lover.
She never told them how hard it was
to wipe that smile off her face
each and every minute they complained.
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