Published on: 1/22/2013
The Phone of Martha Taylor

Inverted shadows lay across unmarked snow
Dapple-darkly drawn.
I pick up my phone and dial, and feel your ring
Every night you've been gone.
      Hello. You've reached the phone of Martha Taylor.
      Leave your number. I'll get back to you.
I look out through aquarium glass.
What side am I on?
      Hello. You've reached the phone
      Of Martha Taylor.
      Leave your number.
      I'll get back to you.
Outside a quiet bench seats only rotting snow
That weeps beneath to spear the ground.
A broken car grill lawn.
      Hello. You've reached
      The phone of
      Martha Taylor.
      Leave
      Your number. I'll get
      Back to you.
I cannot bear to bury your dead voice. I can't move on.