The Cut Chord

Her voice

frayed to static,

a thin thread of sound

about Mom's latest scan.

Then nothing.

Just the buzz of dead air,

a sudden, sick silence

that filled the room,

and my head, with dread.

I stared at the black mirror

of the phone screen,

my own face reflected,

wide-eyed, pale,

a stranger caught in the dim light.

I called back.

It rang, and rang,

a hollow bell

that couldn't tell

me if she was alright,

or if the news she held

was something I might

not want to hear.