Alone with the phone                             (June 3, 2007)

Alone with the phone in my hand
awaiting the tone that says that someone
wants to talk to me. The night air
and the whooshing of cars come to me
through open windows, and the humidity
sits on everything. The cell doesn�t speak,
so I wait, fending off sleep until fatigue
passes and I am fully awake, staring
in the darkness at nothing, repeatedly
checking the phone and the time, sighing
the minutes away.

I know who is speaking to whom, and
I know that I have now been relegated to
a lower spot in the batting order, a less
central place in my loved one�s heart.
I understand that this should not hurt
as much as it does and that I should let
it go and move forward, but what we know
and what we do are often not the same.
Poetry

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