Dead Air

I lifted the receiver by mistake,

reaching for a glass of water on the counter.

The cord is a thick, dust-caked braid

that hasn't been stretched in a decade.

The sound is flat.

A long, unending line of nothing

that used to mean someone was waiting.

I held it to my ear for a full minute,

listening to the silence of a dead kitchen.

It’s the only thing in this house

that doesn't want anything from me.