shaking in my seat
i pick up the phone;
the dial tone encourages me (good luck, it says)
i punched in each digit of his number
as if it was a sacred part of him

ring; my heart thumps louder than reciever.

"hello?"

(beautiful. just like everything about him.)

so the conversation advances to the usual
"how are you's," and i lose patience
with it,
the words falling heavy from his tongue until he runs out
and i know he doesn't have a thing more to say to me

i'd like to say, i want to touch you through this phone;
i'd like to hold you close and show you who i am,
i want to know you, come grace me with your scent;
i would give my heart and the soul in my blood to know you.

instead, i let the conversation crumble
i let my chance [and myself] crumble

"maybe we'll talk another time," he says
and smiling through our teeth
we both know he's lying

we say our goodbyes and
my heart returns to its normal rhythm as the
receiver clicks

09/27/2004

Author's Note: i don't really like this, but i wanted to have a record of this event in poetry form. i know i write a lot of poems about phone calls.

Posted on 09/28/2004
Copyright © 2025 Emily Davidson