The Siren Nobody Claimed

It started high. Like a question mark.

Then dropped low. Like the answer was no.

Then stayed uncertain—

spiraling up and down the scale like it couldn't decide

if it was an emergency or a warning or just a sound

that had escaped from somewhere and couldn't find its way back.

I was standing in my kitchen. Hand on the cabinet.

The neighborhood stopped. Every window lit.

Everyone listening. Everyone wondering if it was theirs.

By the time I looked outside, it was gone.

The sound stayed anyway. In my chest.

In the space where my ribs used to be.

My neighbors didn't come out. We all just stood

behind our windows, listening to the silence it left behind.

I still don't know what it meant.

I still hear it sometimes, at the exact same time,

and I'm back in that kitchen, hand on the cabinet,

waiting for the world to explain itself.

It never does.