As the last waltz playing in my jacket ceased, Loneliness and longing spilled out, Along with a few coins and a recorder From my roomy coat pockets.
The phone booth stood there, Frosted by icicles of promises Never thawed to life, Yet a haven from my impasse; A womb for the stranded & unwanted.
I closed the door behind me, And fed the phone a few coins, Punched your number with numb fingers And fogged up the insides of the glass, As I waited to hear your voice.
“Hello?” You said, but where were my words? I must have lost them on my way, I must have fed them to the phone Along with the paltry coins, Could you hear what I wanted to say?
“Hello?” You repeated, a little alert, I listened to your silence, trying to smile, It sank like warm music on my heart, Waltzes and sonatas were so cliché.
Where were my words? Just one would suffice, Couldn’t I sum us up in a single word? I couldn’t find the kigo to our season. I had lost it, left it with you, That and my voice In the world I was forced to leave, And all this while I was held, Tenuously to you by this phone call, Till I heard the strained dial tone again, In this silent world I’ve come to inhabit.