The phone rang twice before I picked it up

The phone rang twice before I picked it up.

I knew the voice, the dry and hollow rasp

asking for a drop from a shallow cup,

a final reach within a failing grasp.

I’m holding the pen above the ledger book,

calculating the rent and the cost of the light.

I give away the peace of the path I took

just to keep your hallway burning bright.

The knife goes through the bread with a jagged sound.

I’m cutting my lunch in half to pay the ghost.

It turns out mercy isn't found in the ground;

it’s the meal you give when you have the least to boast.