The complete poemas published in Crossings
“Please Call Me”
I miss the avocado-green rotary phone
and its coiled cord,
the cadence of your speech,
your wandering words.
We talked of trivialities—
our jobs, our foolish acts,
complaints of coworkers,
disappointments,
dreams.
Even pauses pleased me—
our breathing replaced
when voices halted,
like the chirping
of sparrows at dusk.
Our talks comforted me.
I’m sad at their end.
Now you text—
“Thinking of you,”
with a random photo.
I reply, “Thinking of you, too.”
Thoughts of you—
mist fading in snowy air.
I no longer know you
as I once did.
I long to hear your voice
when my iPhone’s old bell rings.
From Crossings.
The first stanza leans on repeated sounds: the hard c of “coiled cord” and “cadence,” the w of “your wandering words.” Later, “Even pauses pleased me” and the “chirping / of sparrows at dusk” keep that music going. The stanza about texting is plainer, and the hope was that the reader would hear the difference before noticing it, and then hear the old voice return, faintly, in the last line’s “old bell rings.”
A suggestion. You might read a draft aloud and mark the places where the sound goes flat, then change a word or two for sound alone and ask whether the meaning changed too.