Rice Paper Walls Played On Cornet Walls like rice paper separated our bedrooms I awoke to the thud of her oak headboard Banging rhythmically against my wall Intermingled with the creaking of springs I lay there, trying to think of anything Except the empty space beside me Or the pillow still smelling of Camel cigarettes Still smelling of an absent cornet player The sounds through the wall did not arouse me And the smell of the pillow did not sooth me I tried to think of him playing his cornet Notes running up and down the scale Filling the room with his soft melodies Or mad riffs of cool jazz buffering the walls Drowning out my neighbor’s fucking sounds Through the rice paper I could hear her Her quick panting timed to her partner’s thrust His loud grunts and the sucking of his teeth A battle of moans and groans of which I wanted no part I pulled the pillow to me and inhaled deeply Trying only to hear the cornet’s melodic reprieve Singing sweetly within my head as I lay there Then I heard her partner come, a resounding OH-SHIT! And then a deep throated gurgle sound Followed by her not-quite-finished release Through the rice paper wall I heard his breathing morph into a spent lover’s snore And the sound of her slippers Crossing the floor ©Aurora Lewis