She says she was on the phone for
THIRTY MINUTES mind you
Trying to get it into his thick, ham of a skull that she just wanted to
SLICE OPEN SO BAD
To see where was the grinding gear
The faulty screw
The jammed thingamabob.
It was what she didn’t see
Beyond the blood-filled tissues
And also in front
Is infinity more important than eight?
They are the same shape, after all
He keeps talking
But I can’t seem to understand
His voice becomes raw
Grated words scatter out of my phone,
That’s what mama’s silky smoothie sometimes salty
Voice is to me.
It’s as good as God
When I pray
I do it in her bearhug tone
Maybe He won’t recognize me
If I channel it good enough.
I think I can.