Uncorrected Proofs
as for myself, I am always forgetting
what it was I wasn't going to write about
what I wasn't going to say again
-Catherine Hunter
The mirrors & the unacknowledged nods.
Dial tones & license plates.
The words you didn't choose.
Everything the day's too small to hold spills on to the dusk, & shorts the evening's fuse.
So you fumble for a voice, & sing "Happy Birthday."
Read it to yourself again.
The stories always end the same.
She can't stay & he won't run, & fear is where they're calling from.
Staunch the blood from countless tiny cuts.
We're all out of bandages.
The heaters rattle, taunt.
Sifting through translucent shards of glass, looking for a filament that lit the life you want.
So you fumble for the phone, grasp the cord & pull.
Will your readership complain the stories always end the same?
He can't stay & she won't run, & fear is where they're calling from.
Afraid is where you're calling from.
