Even though the conversations
were often fraught, too heavy
with all of the unspoken
emotions and accusations,
guilt and grudges,
I still wish
I could pick up the phone.

Even though I had to
watch the time
to make sure that I called
before you went too far
down into
the daily hell
of alcohol,
before ethanol
loosened your tongue
and sent words spinning
off into the white cellular noise,
so you mumbled fragments
that I parsed like fragile papyri,
I still wish I could hear your voice.

Even though I would worry
about what you would be like with my kids,
I still wish you could see them.

Seven time we've done this now, and
I'd still like to know
what you'd think about it all.