from a challenge

my friend and i came up with a challenge to write about her dislike for chatting on the phone.

i don't know the entire story, so consider this completely fictional... as... it is.




Three Variations on Lisa Not Answering the Phone

1. She has great ring tones.

Marvin Gaye signals the latest guy to almost make her speed dial.
She holds the phone to her cheek as if it had lips
and wonders what he’s breathing into her voicemail.
Her fingers trace the delicate outline of the speaker… but always,
always he stops singing right at the part where


2. Something is stealing her words.

She used to imagine them pouring out
like an army of ants, lunch pails in hand, hard hats
square on their inky little heads, carrying her messages
along miles of telephone line before emerging
into the sunlight of her lover’s ear.

Now, they spin like lopsided butterflies
from tower to tower, chased by hungry birds
or taking a wrong turn at an accumulation of clouds
that remind her of Albuquerque.

She says, “I’m going to pick up groceries tonight,”
but “I don’t love you. I’m a serial monogamist
waiting for something better to come along,”
crashes like the Red Sea onto the Roman Legion
at the other end of the conversation.

“Why don’t we meet at Muy Thai tonight at 7?”
becomes “It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t find
myself interested in anyone who is intrigued
by the emotional wreckage of my life.”

“I can’t sleep because I hate waking up
with a bruise on the other side of the bed,”:
“I have to go. It’s time for me to brush my teeth.”

3. The universe is expanding, the world shrinking.

Every second of every day,
galaxies are moving farther apart than she’ll travel
her entire life, blinking Morse-code torch songs
that would put Billie Holiday to shame,
which will naturally be misinterpreted by newly-christened
lovers as the merry fucking twinkling of stars.

Yet she finds it entirely too easy to dial an ex-
boyfriend who moved to Iowa five years ago
and indulge in late-night longing for his prodigal kiss.

She knows he turns his cell phone off after work,
but calls just to hear him recite his number and promise
to call back. She dials it again and again, and each time
some part of her wants the message to change,
even the inflection of his voice. It doesn’t, of course,
so she snaps her phone shut and wonders
if he’s put his children to bed already.