The value of your voice...

It was a laugh at first –

like a thought, not seen coming –

“What if you died? What if you've died?”

It was easy to dismiss –

you, an abstract non-presence –

and I set it aside. I set it aside.

But then I took a nap –

in the warm, late day shadows –

And it grew to one scene, then another.

There were forklifts –

and palates, paint cans, rigid metal –

where you worked. Then a call from your mother.

“I got your number from her notebook –

she loved you you know. I hope you will

speak when we lay her body down.”

And I'd never tell them, or anyone –

when the last thing you'd done was ask me to leave,

the last thing I'd done was not be around

When you asked “can we talk?” –

that I didn't make you happy on the last day

I could have. That I left you alone,

And that that's where your heart was –

when you saw the shelf falling – when your shoulders

tensed, then went limp. {please... hear your phone.}