The Telephone

The Telephone

The telephone hangs

With veins entangled below its body,

Humming Gregorian at first

And then chirping melodically

As it, like so few creatures,

Accepts my touch.

It is the medium that connects time zones,

That lets me know my brother

Is safe in Jacksonville, or

That Eric died this morning.

Tonight, your face is broadcast

And I’ve summoned the telephone

And preyed on its transmissions,

As if crossing fingers could make

Our paths follow suit.

Repeating purrs of want and of hope

But the telephone does not make guarantees.

The telephone clicks.