She picks up the beige handle, weighty solid,
a slight bend at each end, the cord stretching
from one end to its squarish base
Holding one end to her right ear the other the cord attached end
resting near her mouth She listens,
hears the sound of hope, the tone of possibility

She extends her left index finger and
hooks it into the dial cutout over the 5
turning the dial until it stops,
removing her finger as she watches
the dial slide back
Six more times the ritual is repeated

and then  

she waits  

She hears it 

bzz, bzz, bzz  

the sound of hopes dashed,

the end of possibility  

Her left index finger pushes down the peg in the handle cradle
and then releases it
hears the sound of hope,
extends her left index finger, hooks it into the dial cutout

I looked for you all this December day
Sun turned to rain then to snow
This brief winter day turned to dark

I thought of you all this day
Been grateful for you, for us
For our simple life, our health

Thankful for your patience
Your capacity for love, caring, ritual
Thankful for your memory of us

Thankful even for the torn ragged episodes
The sad, the shameful, the … but wait;
There you are

In your lit window upstairs
I beckoned: “Come out, come out.”
You shook your head and killed the light.

Augment
Auto transfer
Autonomous machines
Artificial intelligence
Anxious

They say that in the quietest room in the world

Once you stay long enough

You begin to hear the rush of blood

Through your head

The beat of your heart

In your temples

The creaking of bones

It would drive me mad

I wonder if it’s anything like the silence

At four in the morning

Waiting for my day to start

Sick to my stomach over things I cannot control

Wind barely whispering

Through the leaves of trees

The sky is dark but

Light enough to be eerie

They say that in the loudest room in the world

A balloon popping sounds like

A bullet from a gun

Consonants from a whisper like

Knives slashing the air,

Nails on a chalkboard or

Something

It would drive me mad

I wonder if it’s anything like the noise

In my mind

At 10 at night

A hamster on its wheel

Running in the same place

Accomplishing nothing

Mind preventing sleep

From pouring over me like water over the edge

Of a cliff

start as more
                     or
common more
                     or
          go in only 
                      a few

show the chamber
         smooth below
                in some
even weakness
                      or
                     loss

I’m sorry for when I spit
blood in your direction
because someone else stuck
a knife in my heart.

She shivers every time, a quaking 

You fork your way into night, pickled
envelope of humid air and streetlight blur–
the thought of them on your bent-low head
as, smoking, you turn dark again to dark.

When they call your name, you appear–
or maybe this is a dream you both shared
once–smoke and sulphur, the cloven needs
of a pair of bodies brush against each other.

You return to your warren, the hollow
where you keep your bed. In the waning 
of the dawn, the world resets itself anew 
again. You remember and forget their face. 

“Only people of a certain disposition are frightened
                        of being alone for the rest of their lives” 

                                                    –       Rob Gordon, High Fidelity  

Liftgate lowers; last equipment carried, stacked, accounted;
spatter of rain fights gravity, flung against your exposed neck,
your tie long-since loosened, top buttons undone
to let your skin breathe.  Fresh water mixes with salt-sweat
trickling down your chest, underneath your clothes. You climb
behind the wheel, muscles aching, heart still
throbbing—from the sound, the adrenaline; everyone else left
an hour before you–venues painted red by taillights;
thoughts lingering in word bubbles from the past
half hour…            

                    “You guys have been great tonight.  Hope you had fun,”                                                

                                      “Headed off to a honeymoon?  Safe travels and thank you                                                           
                                               for trusting me with your big day.”

                              “No, thank you.  For letting me share in this day with
you.”

             “No problem.  Really.  Glad you liked it; it’s a special song to me too.”

The dashed-line bubbles pursue; ghosts along the road home;
darkness and more taillights—the ones you didn’t say…

                         “I really hope you beat the odds.”

                                                             “Remember today.  When it gets rough.”

             “Don’t ever stop fighting for what matters.”

                                     “I’d rather not play that one…it reminds me of her.”

So much magic, so much finery.  So much money.  So many couples–
dancing, holding, kissing,
in love.                       

                    It reminds you that there is someone for everyone.
                    Nobody goes to a wedding
                    alone.

The road stretches in front of you.  Hidden horizon.  Twenty minutes left
in the day.  But you’ll arrive
tomorrow.

 Alone.                                                                                                                         
                                    
                                                                                                            Until it’s time

to do it again.