The call

old telephone

We are dancing now
on the mummified remains
of ancient sisterhood,
and I, weary but duty bound,
am loath to be the one
to break this rigid embrace.

I return your call.

Your need rushes out at me
across the telephone wires,
clutches me by the neck
with fear-strengthened
skeleton fingers
and squeezes deep.

Hello, it’s me.

Comes the onslaught,
avalanche of emptiness,
vapid, crashing into me
like breakers onto the beach,
battering furious against my
feeble attempt to respond,
drowning me in the undertow.

Words….words….words

Bland, vacuous steamroller
sucking the life out of me,
peeling me flat.  I can’t get
a question in edgewise.

Anxious to escape with my life,
I interrupt the torrent,
plead urgent matters,
promise to call again soon,

soon,

say a quick good-bye
and hang up, exhausted,
shrivelled,
curiously empty.

Sucked dry.

dry leaf

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6 Comments

    1. Hi! Thank you for your comments; I’ll get right back to you via email.

      What on earth are you doing up at 4:00 a.m., though? I thought I was the only insomniac who kept such ungodly hours! 🙂

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    1. Thank you, Deany, for taking the time to send a comment. Writing has become so much a part of my life now that I can’t imagine not putting pen to paper when I need to say whatever it is I need to say–and my little prose poems, for me, express some of those things in a way that nothing else can. I’m so glad that you enjoy reading my work! Hugs right back. S.

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    1. Hi Nancy! It’s so lovely to hear from you again! Thank you for your comment, which I so appreciate. I haven’t posted all that regularly, but these days I’m trying for once every ten days or so OR, at best, once a week. We’ll see if that works out. Time has a way of slipping through my fingers without my even noticing. Must be age. Bah, humbug! 🙂

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