It’ll be one of those lonely nights
where I’m sipping flat soda and watching That 70’s Show, one of those episodes where Foreman almost loses Donna
and suddenly you will come to mind and I will punch in
the numbers I know by heart.
It will only just register in my head that you
might actually pick up and as soon as I decide
to hang up, the tranquil voice I have yearned to hear will come on the line.
Hello? Hello?
I remember your caller I.D. is busted
and thank the Lord.
Hello? HELLO?
I can almost see your cheeks coloring in frustration
but every insecurity I had when we were together
seizes my throat with a cold, relentless grip
and all I can muster is a weak choking sound.
You try one last desperate greeting before clicking the phone shut,
and the hand loosens its grip to let me breathe,
but only for a moment.
Our relationship was eerily similar to that phone call.
I was the one drowning in sorrow, begging for you to rescue me
but I refused to learn how to swim, so you gave up and I never blamed you.
I still don’t.
With newfound determination I will quickly call back,
but when a high pitched voice filled with
nauseating optimism answers on the second ring,
I’ll remember that I was always the turbulent sea rocking our boat off course,
but I’ll be glad you found a shining lighthouse to lead you safely home.
I will hang up without a word.