On The Phone
On the phone, I tell you
That it has been too long since I talked to someone and really
Heard them. You are not in front on me, and you breathe
As if to say, That’s okay.
I tell you,
That my voice has become soft again,
That my hands have touched soil like it will save me.
And you breathe, as if to say, Don’t worry.
I say, autumn is giving way to winter.
That the rain doesn’t sound the same anymore.
That writing with pencils eases my anxiety.
One morning you made your coffee extra black,
And said that windchimes differ in their sound depending on where the wind comes from.
It sounded logical enough,
But I guess you meant something else;
Depending on what the wind has to say.
I tell you,
I do not know how to be a poet without being sad.
This time I cannot decipher your breath,
And the silence tells me what I don’t want to hear.
I ask how you’ve been,
And what perfume you are wearing nowadays.
You tell me the brand, but not the scent.
You go on to tell me how you’ve been dreaming about driving South,
Through tunnels trees towns that do not have a name,
That you want to play hookie with life
And close your eyes until it starts to make sense,
That you want to take the next flight to France and ask the CEO how a psychometric test
Can gauge what you’ve spent years picking apart.
That you want to make a costume out of seaweed
And laugh until you cry a lake.
I fall silent. I have forgotten how to speak.
So I breathe, as if to say,
Put the phone down, now. Until we meet again.