The Author As Neighbor Who Hears The Gunshot And Looks Through His Window To See Wilson Rushing Out Of The House And Screaming In Love Lisa

By Keith Montesano / Issue 6

After the film by Todd Louiso

It was dawn: we were barely awake, the light shattered

through the blinds, a blanket we had draped to shroud

ourselves into sleep again, which didn’t work. His voice

first before the screams, & I jumped, left you there

to turn in bed, as if you heard nothing. We never knew them,

& for years lived just feet from each other, so I watched

through our bathroom window, wondered if I should call 911,

or wait until he did, since I didn’t know if it was my place,

or what had happened. She did it in their guest bedroom,

we found out days later, & left no note. We hid from him.

What could we say? There was a van & cleaning crew.

Cleaning crew. But this happens. We just never thought

so close to our home. Weeks later, in the morning, after

he torched his house, we felt our own bodies on fire,

& promised to move soon, to never speak of it again.

Keith Montesano is the author of the poetry collection Ghost Lights (Dream Horse Press, 2010). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Quarterly West, Third Coast, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Blackbird, Mid-American Review, Ninth Letter, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. He currently lives with his wife in New York, where he is a PhD Candidate in English and creative writing at Binghamton University.