Through Drywall

I was standing by the coat closet

with my phone open to nothing —

not a text, not a search,

just the screen on.

My face in the hallway mirror.

The light off my glasses.

Four or five of them in the living room.

The laughter came through the wall in long waves,

the kind with a shape to it —

someone had said exactly the right thing.

I stayed until it felt like a decision

I had made.

Nobody came to find me.

Eventually I went back in

and someone put a drink in my hand

and something else was funny

and I laughed.

On cue.

I keep thinking about the mirror —

my face, the lit screen,

the sound arriving through drywall

like it had the wrong address.