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| photo courtesy of Rob Hanson |
She dials the number
Ring, ring, click
Hello. You have reached...
Closes her eyes and listens to his voice
We are not able to take your call right now...
The kids say it's morbid, like hearing a ghost
But to her, his voice is like
a warm blanket
and her bed is so cold
Please leave a message after the tone...
I miss you, she tells him.
submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry
10 comments:
this is haunting in its reality...someone gone, whether by circumstance or death...to hear their voice, even a recording...yeah i get that...
wow. Wonderful poetic narrative/microfiction. The his-her 3rd person voice works incredibly well. Could feel her pain.
I could see myself doing this, all the time. Very haunting indeed.
Sad, empty and really good...
Wow. I get it too. Oh my goodness... I can relate.
So real, a stab of pain mingled with the comfort.
Once, I kept an old gf's messages on my machine for months, until a power outage did them in. It was like a little time capsule I could visit. I missed her.
It's sometimes chilling how ephemeral are the important things we might leave behind.
My mother's voice, I hear in my head sometimes when I walk by her portrait framed picture. One of her last pics taken. She stares at the point where she was told to in a studio before the pic is taken. There's a void in her eyes painted by the brush of the insidious nature of Alzheimer's. Her voice resounds in her absence. I appreciate her 'life'. Your piece reminds me of this. Thank you.
The things we truly love the most under everything else. Some of us know what they are, some of us don't until after.
I like this one thank you.
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