Your knocks come after a fight with her. One for I’m ok, three for I’m not. I listen through our shared stucco wall, wondering what it feels like to be on the other side.

When you die, I watch her mourn on Facebook. There are photos of too-bright smiles and a ring that doesn’t fit her. My jealousy is acute, insular like a wedding invitation.

I hear the knocking in my sleep. It mocks me, an ever present haunting....

Your knocks come after a fight with her. One for I’m ok, three for I’m not. I listen through our shared stucco wall, wondering what it feels like to be on the other side.

When you die, I watch her mourn on Facebook. There are photos of too-bright smiles and a ring that doesn’t fit her. My jealousy is acute, insular like a wedding invitation.

I hear the knocking in my sleep. It mocks me, an ever present haunting....

Your knocks come after a fight with her. One for I’m ok, three for I’m not. I listen through our shared stucco wall, wondering what it felt like to be on the other side.

When you die, I watch her mourn on Facebook. There are photos of too-bright smiles and a ring that doesn’t fit her. My jealousy is acute, insular like a wedding invitation.

I hear the knocking in my sleep. It mocks me, an ever present haunting....

Your knocks come after a fight with her. One for I’m ok, three for I’m not. I listen through our shared stucco wall, wondering what it felt like to be on the other side.

When you die, I watch her mourn on Facebook. There are photos of too-bright smiles and a ring that doesn’t fit her. My jealousy is acute, insular like a wedding invitation.

I hear the knocking in my sleep. It mocks me, an ever present haunting....

On my tenth birthday, my neighbors jokingly declared me the mayor of my cul-de-sac. I had long since been the organizer of our childhood games, along with my brother, who was the oldest of our merry band. Still, there were different expectations for the two of us. He was called vivacious. I was called mature.

I never asked for such a title, its implications wearing heavily on my bony, childish shoulders. I wanted to be a kid, who could get...

On my tenth birthday, my neighbors jokingly declared me the mayor of my cul-de-sac. I had long since been the organizer of our childhood games, along with my brother, who was the oldest of our merry band. Still, there were different expectations for the two of us. He was called vivacious. I was called mature.

I never asked for such a title, its implications wearing heavily on my bony, childish shoulders. I wanted to be a kid, who could get...