A bird hung itself outside our window.
I watched it swing for two weeks.
Spinning in the wind, silent, an artifact of flight.
It's method was a piece of floss or some other nesting material
That held fast and squeezed tight.
Every morning, as I brought the box fan inside to close and lock the window above the fire escape
I saw it.
I watched it.
For moments too long I hung on myself to the sway of the dead bird.
Several days ago, it fell
The air was cleared.
Breathe easy.
But every morning,
I linger on the spot where string got caught
And flight turned to suffering, then stillness.


1.
Judith Nash is my neighbor.
She's lived in the building since 1982.
Everyday, sometimes three times a day, she tells me, she walks down and up the four flights of stairs.
And every day she walks all the way around the block!
"That's my neighbor,” she says and points to me when I introduce her to my boyfriend.
She doesn't realize that he's her neighbor too.
But that's okay.
Me and Judith have a special thing going on.
When she told me her name, slowly, deliberately, making sure I got the first name, then adding the last, then naming them together,
I thought it sounded so regal.
And though I am woefully neglectful with names, I said to myself
"Kerri, this is your neighbor, in a building that feels more neighborly than you've ever experienced in New York. Take care of her. Remember her name."
Judith Nash
Judith Nash
And my distracted mind almost forgot it when I saw her again sitting on the stoop, enjoying the breeze and peacefully watching the yells of the dice game across the street.
But I didn't.
"Hi Judith," I say.
"Hello," she says and I walk into the building
And as the door closed, I heard her proudly say to her stoop companion, "That's my neighbor.”


2.
Judith is on the stoop again.
This time dressed in faded peach.
I ask her how she is and she says she's doing good. Happy.
Yeah? I say, in the slightly patronizing way you talk to old people, like you're entertaining their speech instead of really listening.
“Yes,” she says. "Nobody can make you happy."
She must see the signs of tears on my face from an hour ago.
I nod.
"You've got to make yourself happy."
I mouth thank you to her as I push through the doorway.


2.
I wonder if Judith hears my insane laughter several nights a week
As I wiggle naked
Making fun of cubists
And reveling in unfiltered imagination with my love.
She's two doors down,
So it wouldn’t travel through the walls
But perhaps,
As she's taking slow steps to her door
after four flights of stairs
She's heard me
pleasantly befuddled
By a glee
Uncharacteristic
Of the polite sad
white girl
She knows


4.
Judith Nash is hibernating for the winter.
I haven't seen her in weeks.
I started to dread, slightly, having to say hello in the afternoons.
To see her as I got home
And went to the gym
And came back.
"Alright, alright, dear.”
How many acknowledgements is enough?
What can I say that will mean something without actually having to stop as I walk through the door?


5.
Is Judith Nash dead?
I hate to give breath or ink to the thought.
But there it is
I can't remember the last time I saw her on the stoop or idling up to her apartment - just two doors down from ours.
The apartment we love
Renovated and clean
Reasonably priced.
We see glimpses of vinyl tile floors and outdated furniture
Through cracked doors of other apartments while walking up the stairs.
We know we are privileged.
How does a young white couple get a rent stabilized apartment in a building full of West Indian immigrants?
Someone dies.


6. Judith Nash isn't dead.
I saw her just now, in a fall colored windbreaker with friends on the bottom floor standing outside of an apartment.
I softly said hello to the woman who lives in that first floor apartment,
She looked as if she was in-between speaking and I didn't want to interrupt her.
I'm not sure she heard me.
I only saw Judith as I was passing, her face revealing itself from behind her companions bodies.
My body was moving too swiftly.
The recognition of Judith hit my face but didn't form into a greeting.
Too soon, I was at the door while Judith scooted slowly towards it.
Too rushed to wait for her slow steps to reach me, I let the door close and smiled at her.
At least, I think I smiled.
It didn't register on her face,
So I really can't be sure.


7.
Sweaty skin under winter coat
Rush to the door
Hot
Late
On the way to babysitting
Find key
Lock
“Hello."
Judith
Regal
In a grey calf length coat
With black fur trim
Orthopedic shoes and a bright pink
Lunch pail
Covered in peace signs.
Good morning.
I'm going to the doctor, she says
Oh, I like your hat, I say
It looks warm.
She touches the black fur on her head and nods, "Alright"
Have a good day, I say,
About to bound down the stairs
My tricky hip catching slightly
With each movement down
Out the door in less than a minute
Jogging to the train
Oh, Judith
What a presence you are to me
Catching me flustered
And reminding me
To breathe.