This is the problem with cell phones
They’re incompatible with passion.
Tortured whispers from the hallway
fail to transmit
The ear meant to receive
the hurried promise
of a kiss
And this wail
All distortion your cries funnel
through the phone
details scatter like beads broken
are lost in floorboards, beneath furniture
If I am to hear you I must tell you
Drop your voice
Map out for me the betrayal
Tell me again how you wonder
About your marriage
And if it is destroyed.
But I don’t.
I let the distortion drown me like a torrent
I try to catch the words
But like salt water they swallow me
(Lean your body against mine. I will try to sponge the grief that soaks through your skin but I know, I have been here, I know that the chemistry of grief will not permit osmosis. This is your child and I am here to catch her in my arms and bring her back to you. I am here to ask you, when the pain has ebbed after some time, many years maybe, and we stare at this strange creature, her weight heavy on your chest, I am here to ask you: How will you go on from here?)