Crossed Wires


The telephone cries.

I cradle it to my face,

feeling its cold pliability.


How strange that a twenty four year

marriage can be compressed

into a machine.


One thousand miles separate us,

a void stretched over and over

into words of wired speech


after you said you wouldn’t fly

into another time zone

to keep your career.


When I hang up

My children and I

work on a puzzle.


We try to find

the one piece to fill in the sky,

crawling along the floor searching the room.


Finally I find a pair of scissors,

and begin creating a facsimile

to complete the picture.


A lone grey cardboard cutout

looks tawdry and dull

against the other pieces.


I cannot stop the ringing in my ears.


~ by dianeklammer on May 8, 2013.

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