I remember even now how it would feel
when you wouldn’t call.
Cursing the ugly faded pink rotary phone
sitting mute at the desk on the landing.
I grew to hate that phone. Its insolence.
I left the light off on the desk to lessen expectation,
tried not to listen for it
lifting the receiver every ten minutes.
Maybe a power outage, a felled tree limb,
slamming it down again.
I hated you for all of it,
for this stranger I had become,
saddling me with a rejection so deep
I can still hear the deafening sound of that phone