At 1:00 AM in a College Dorm, I Put On My Headphones

when my neighbor laughs
she sounds like one of those
warbling clay bird whistles.
while i listen to the birds,
i feel as though i’m in
a different hitchcock film.
rear window, thin walls,
does it really make a difference?
i hear her whole life—
when the blinds raise,
when the drawers close.
i hear her conversations,
sometimes muffled, but often
achingly clear.
when she yells
i didn’t do anything
or when she sighs
oh, my god.
there is a vibrance, bright
on the other side of the drywall,
and it feels wrong not to tell her
how sound travels,
but who am i to tell her
to stop living?


Pittsburgh, PA

Rachel Geffrey is a Pittsburgh native studying Creative Writing, Psychology, and Women's and Gender Studies at Chatham University. She has been published in Cicada, The Skinny Poetry Journal, and The Minor Bird, and is still trying to decide what she wants to do when she grows up.

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