I Let It Go to Voicemail

You called with the same flat voice,

the one I've been answering for years.

I said I know. You paused, waiting

for the old machinery to gear.

It didn't. I sat in the kitchen

and let the silence earn its keep.

You called back in twenty minutes.

I watched the phone vibrate and creep

face-down across the table—

slow circles, like it was trying

to find an edge to fall from.

I didn't move. The phone stopped trying.

First time. Which shouldn't be a milestone.

Which is, anyway. The fridge

clicked on. The room stayed the room.

I thought about every bridge

I built you back to solid ground,

every call I answered fast.

I thought: I still love you.

I thought: I can't make this last.