Glass and Lead

It felt like a live wire for the first twenty minutes,

something that might jump or sing if I looked away.

Now it is just a slab of black mineral,

a dense piece of cargo pulling at my wrist.

I catch my own reflection in the Gorilla Glass,

a distorted forehead and a thumbprint smudge

right where the notification bubble should be.

I tilt it toward the lamp, checking for a ghost signal,

some digital pulse I might have missed in the air.

When the vibration finally hits, it’s a hollow thud.

The screen wakes up to tell me the battery is at ten percent.

It’s a cruel bit of irony from a machine—

warning me it’s dying while I’m the one

holding my breath for a sign of life.