Poem of the Week
On Ending a Phone Call With A Good Friend
Just a few years ago, to hang up the phone meant
To return the receiver to its cradle, carefully,
With a smooth motion, like putting the baby down
For a nap, deposited sweetly, heavy-limbed
And warm, onto her back or her front or her side,
Whichever position was least likely to result in her
Sleepy death, according to the experts of the day.
Now we snap our phones shut with a clack,
Guillotine the last syllables that should have
Been left to drift like fine strands of silk tangled
Loosely in the nest of memory, quiet like that
Dreaming baby, too young yet for night terrors.
Now they say there is no difference between
The brain and the mind. That dense weight of gray
Is your soul, and you carry it around inside your skull
Like an encumbrance, and the headaches I get
Twice a week, it seems, are merely the dry keenings
Of my own vital force crying for release.
And so it comes as a relief to hear your voice, to let
It travel in that heavy realm between my ears, to let
It infiltrate the walls of each cell like a dye that
Will show up later on an X-ray, lit up like the night
Sea, phosphorescent and full of clouds.
Just a few years ago, to hang up the phone meant
To return the receiver to its cradle, carefully,
With a smooth motion, like putting the baby down
For a nap, deposited sweetly, heavy-limbed
And warm, onto her back or her front or her side,
Whichever position was least likely to result in her
Sleepy death, according to the experts of the day.
Now we snap our phones shut with a clack,
Guillotine the last syllables that should have
Been left to drift like fine strands of silk tangled
Loosely in the nest of memory, quiet like that
Dreaming baby, too young yet for night terrors.
Now they say there is no difference between
The brain and the mind. That dense weight of gray
Is your soul, and you carry it around inside your skull
Like an encumbrance, and the headaches I get
Twice a week, it seems, are merely the dry keenings
Of my own vital force crying for release.
And so it comes as a relief to hear your voice, to let
It travel in that heavy realm between my ears, to let
It infiltrate the walls of each cell like a dye that
Will show up later on an X-ray, lit up like the night
Sea, phosphorescent and full of clouds.