I stare at the phone,
Thinking how it would feel to pick it up,
Thinking how it would feel to make the call,
Thinking of how many rings will go unanswered,
Or if it will be intercepted;
Will the voice be a man or a woman?,
Or will it be caught, cupped, collected by some cavernous hole,
that saves my words;
Words that I’ve put out there,
Free but heavy, sticking to the air
Like my breath when it’s cold out
Why am I not concerned… how he must feel awaiting my call?
Not knowing feels delightfully powerful.
I wait to see if the rebellion in me passes…….
I could easily put his feelings before mine,
I am still the kid he left at the curb,
waiting, endlessly, a lifetime really
I don’t think I’ll call.