There was something
romantic
about the hiss of the phone
after you'd hung up.
As though the rapid fire
conversation about my
grandmother's death
existed only in the space
between our receivers.
As though hanging up
would make the conversation
disappear
and the things said
would be undone.

That hiss only gets louder
and eventually starts to echo
with things said and unsaid.

"Good. She was crazy anyway."
"Good. She was crazy anyway."
"Good. She was crazy anyway."