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| image by Sarolta Ban |
She calls the number every day
just to hear his voice on their answering machine
Her friends and the kids say
that it's been long enough
that it's time
but she can't erase the message
It's all she has left of him
After all,
his scent has faded
from his clothes and the bed linen
She no longer gets startled
when she awakens alone
So she clings to this last piece
She won't make him a ghost
at least, not yet
She listens to him say
"Leave your message after the tone"
She pauses, then
whispers "I love you."
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform and
Magpie Tales, Mag 274
17 comments:
Dear Mouse ~~ two treats, a Leonard Cohen quote and a sigh-producing poem ....
This is so touching.. brought a tear to my eye! Beautifully executed.
So moving, Lolamouse........you have captured her so well I can see her.
Perfectly moving.. this is so tender, and I like the thought of getting close to someone by that single recording.
I often think of this conundrum of modern technology which leaves traces of loved ones around once they have gone - especially those indelible facebook pages stored in the great unknown of cyberspace. Your poem is heart-breaking.
This makes me so sad. I recognize myself in this.
I understand this - I cherish the voice on my long-deceased father's answering machine. Excellent poem.
It's amazing how voice and memory can still conquer death over and over again. Very inspiring.
I have a friend who did exactly this, for nearly a decade. What devoted love. What loss.
Oh, man. I see myself here, too. Wrenching truthiness.
Ouch. This is so true to life.
this pierced my heart. my real life experience that this piece conjures in my hearts memory is a last call on the telephone from my mamasita when she was living in Va. Beach and i was located in northern Indiana...in one of her intermittent lucid moments as she struggled with dimentia and alzheimers she asked me in a soulful voice...'when you coming to see me, can you come now'? unfortunately i couldn't get away and that time and that was the last conversation i had with her. she passed a week later.
i did finish that call as i did with every call with her by saying ...te amo, mama (i love you, mom).
gracias mi amiga
This reaches right into my heart. My father died in 2011 and I still have his number on my cell phone. I just can't remove it.
Touching stuff, dear Mousey.
Oh shit - that's VERY close to home!
Works like that with old tape recordings, too, not to mention digital ones on computer. Hard to listen to those long lost voices, but far too precious to erase...
You never fail to get my emotions going with your words. I love this.
sorry for the late mag comment but it's been one of those weeks......again.....!
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