1.
In my dream, I wander through the old apartment building.
I know all my neighbors are dead but when I ring their bells
and say my name, they open their doors without hesitation.
It takes them some time to undo their multiple locks—
the police bars, deadbolts, door chains. I wonder
if they’ve been locked up like this for years,
most of them refugees from Hitler’s Germany, consumed
by the fears they secure on their side of the doors.
 
2.
The old ladies pinch my cheeks even though
I’m as old as they were when I lived in the building.
They speak to me in German and invite me in,
offer me layer cake and Manner Schnitten from Austria.
Die Tage sind lang, they say, aber die Zeit geht schnell vorbei.{1}
They all know my parents have been ill and ask me
how they’re doing. I tell them they’ve been dying
for years, but they refuse to let go.
 
3.
The elevator ends on the sixth floor.
To get to the roof, I need to climb a flight of steep stairs
and push open the heavy metal door. To the south,
the George Washington Bridge is lined with traffic.
To the west, I can see the Golden Gate. The sun
is rising and I hear a multitude of voices:
my children, wife, friends. I can’t decipher their words
but the sounds are dissonant and sweet.


{1} The days are long but the time goes fast.