A cell phone rings in the living room
I can tell from the ring tone
That it's my mom's.
She picks it up
Says something
Unintelligible.
Maybe it's the real estate man?
Her slippers slap their way into my room
She closes the door softly behind her then
Turns to me with an expectant look.
I know that look.
"It's your dad," she says.
I look at the phone in her outstretched hand
Suddenly, I am Snow White
I've just been offered the poisoned apple.
I take the phone and use one finger
To block the other ear.
I like to keep his words in my brain.
They are all I have of him.
There they rot for many months
Before his next phone call.
His side of the line is full of static
It tickles my ear, but doesn't make me smile.
My words are too high, too loud,
They tumble clumsily over each other
Like dumb puppies.
They topple over his rumbly, tired voice
And roll easily through the wide spaces
Between his words.
"When can I visit you?" I ask.
"I don't know" are three great boulders
That are heaved down his tongue.
We stop talking.
The silence between us is deafening
But that is the only sound we know.
