By: Jocelyn Mosman

your voice on the phone
is how I define
sorrow

I used to wait for
the sound to emanate
after ring    ring     ring

but these days
you tell me not to call

you tell me you don’t
use the phone
unless you have to

for me
you don’t have to,
the silence
is a bullet unraveling
a painful sonata

oblivion

now I wait for your voice
to leak its way from text
to ear
from page to memory

I long to remember you
even when it would consume me
wholly

I miss the subtle nuance
of your laughter
soft tug of tongue to lip
gentle twitch of nose and cheek

only the sound of your voice
means melancholy
but you forget to answer

and I cease to be
I fade