is love here

it's a narrow door.
my shoulders
rub against the frame
as I squeeze in.
the stairway
is narrow too, and dark.
a single
bulb swings
from the top of the tiled
stairs.
the stairs are a sea
green, almost brown.
the walls are
glossed with a thick
paint.
graffiti in large
black swipes
goes up as far as an
arm can reach.
I smell cabbage cooking,
I hear a dog
barking.
a baby crying.
televisions blare
behind each metal door.
there is a yellow
puddle pooled in the corner.
I wonder if there is love
here.
there has to be,
how else could one
go on.