When He Picks Up the Phone

 When he picks up the phone

You hope

You won’t hear

His wife’s voice

In the background

Or worse

The voice of his children

Or his grandchild

Or anything

Other than his voice

You’re only strong enough

To hear his voice

When he picks up the phone

You wish you had called

On one of those

Old landlines

Where you could clutch the phone

You could grab onto the cord

You could feel something solid

In your hand

Not like a flimsy iPhone

That feels like it might snap

Under the weight

Of your grip

He says ‘Hello’

He asks ‘Hello?’

He asks it again

You have to speak

You called

You called and you knew

You wanted him

To answer

His breathing sounds the same

His voice sounds older

But the breath

The breath hasn’t changed

You say ‘Hello’

He asks ‘Who’s this?’

He doesn’t know

He doesn’t know

Who you are

How would he?

It’s been…

You tell him

You tell him

Your name

The line buzzes

There’s no background noise

You’re sitting

On the floor

Of your bedroom

Hoping you can pull power

From the boards

In the floor

Then he does it

He laughs

You think about yourself

Going through

The floor

Down to the basement

Below that

Into the dirt

That was there

Before your house was

Your soul flies up

You go up into space

Where you’re far beyond him

Or anyone

Or any voice

On the other end

Of a line

When he asks

How you’re doing

You don’t know what to say

He sounds genial

He sounds casual

He sounds happy

To hear from you

You’ve practiced

What you were going to say

You wrote it down

But you couldn’t bear the idea

Of holding a piece of paper

Reading glasses on

While you spoke to him

You couldn’t handle

How weak it would seem

Even if only you knew about it

You told yourself

That when the time came

You could say

Exactly

What you needed to say

Because you’ve said it to yourself

Again and again

For years

You can sense him waiting

Him wondering

Why you’ve called

All these years

All these years and he has no idea

Why you would look him up

And dial his number

Is it for a favor?

He was always able

To grant favors

Provided you offered something
Worthwhile in return

From what your research tells you

He hasn’t lost any influence

As he’s aged

In fact, he’s respected more now

He’s got the look

Of a community leader

A politician without the office

A lifetime anyone would envy

So why wouldn’t he

Pick up the phone?

How many times

Have you seen an anonymous number

Phone you

And you started to shake

Because you were convinced

He was calling

Telling you

That what happened

Never did

That you needed to stop

Telling doctors about it

Friends

That you needed

To stop writing about it

In letters that would never

See the light of day

That you needed

To promise

You would never

Make this call

You say the name

The name of lake

Where you went

On what

Should have been a date

When you were

So excited

To be going out

With a boy

Who had such a bright future

Ahead of him

When you borrowed

Your sister’s dress

And you got your curfew extended

And the lake looked

Like nothing could ever disturb it

The last time you called his number

And heard his voice

Was when you called him

A month and a half later

To tell him

What it had cost

To take care of

What he’d done

The procedure

And the gas money

You paid

To your best friend’s older brother

To give you a ride

Over the state line

And a little extra

To not say anything

When you called him that time

He was curt

He was short of words

He was uncomfortable

Discussing all this

With you

Despite the reason

You made the call

In the first place

When you were finished

Telling him

Where he could drop off

What he owed you--

(He’d leave it in your mailbox

On his way to college

Saying it was a check

For a painting you made

For his father’s office)

--He said he thought

It would be best

If you didn’t speak

Again

So why does it sound

As though

He believes you to be

An old friend?

Or are you reading

Too much

Into too few words?

You saw the name of the lake

And he says

He doesn’t understand

Does he not remember?
Could he not remember?

Could something live

So prominently

Inside your memory

And fall so easily

Out of his?

You think about

Hanging up

You think about

Trying

For the thousandth time

To put this

In a place

You never have to visit

Not behind you

Nothing lives

Behind you

Everything lives to the side

And on good days

It’s just on the edge

Of peripheral vision

Never completely

Out of sight

But sometimes blurry enough

Not to distract you

From where you’re going

But you stay on the phone

You say the name of the lake

You say what he was wearing

You say what he told you

You say what he demanded

You say what he took

You say what he did

You say what was done

You say it

And he speaks

He tries to speak

But you’re not listening

You have no interest

In listening

You speak

And when you’re done

You say it again

And you think

He’ll hang up

But he doesn’t

He begs you

To stop

He begs you

To stop

Speaking

And you speak

And you speak

And you speak

The phone breaks

It shatters

It’s in pieces

On the ground

And the pieces fall
Down into the basement

Down into the dirt

And your voice

Goes up

Into space

Beyond him

And sound

And voice

And the buzz

That’s there

As someone waits

For you