Noise

The neighbor’s teething baby wails, a grating cranks shut, a woman calls out, a man shouts back, the sanitation truck pulls to the curb with engine, men, and suction, the upstairs flushes, my husband snores. The clichés lull. Finally I drift into the traffic’s hush. Birds cry beyond the sill. Stay put—the stillness gave no token. A baby grew inside me once. A gurgle only I could hear.