That's Not What I Sound Like

I left a voicemail for the specialist.

Pressed nine to hear it back before I sent.

The voice said: hi, this is — my name — I missed

myself entirely. What I meant

to say was in there, dressed in patience,

careful with the ask. I just wanted to

follow up. The kind of voice that waits in

silence after asking. I played it through

twice. Held the phone away from my ear.

I pressed one. Sent. Drove home in the dark.

The voice is in a queue now, somewhere. Clear,

patient, waiting for a callback. The mark

of her is: she said my name right.

The rest of it I'll have to claim as mine.

When they call back, I'll try. Alright.

She set the bar. I'll hold the line.