Concrete Cry

Three flights up,

my heavy shoes

on cold concrete.

The air, still,

like before a storm.

Then, it cut through.

A child's sharp

animal sound,

one pure note

of absolute panic,

from somewhere below.

It hit the landing,

bounced off a wall,

up then down,

a vibration

in the stale air.

Not a word,

just the raw thing.

And then it was gone.

Swallowed.

Leaving only

the dull thump

of my own slow climb.

And a hollowness

in my chest.