On Hold

I can’t escape the ringing phones.

When they ask me my name, I say give. When they ask me how old I am, I say oceans. Mostly I listen — save my mouth for more specific forms of beauty. Down the line there is laughter soaked in static; I slap the receiver, finger the cords.

Nothing changes.

I ask them about sparrows, about spring. I ask them, have you ever waited like I’ve waited? They give me music so cold and clean I think of hospitals. I’m sorry, I say to the silver notes singing so exact, I think I have to go.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: