Poetry

One Phone Call

I found an empty telephone booth
at the edge of the world.
I picked up the receiver
and whispered, “hello.”

“I haven’t spoken to you for so long,” I said,
“not since you’ve been gone.”
“Where are you?” I cried,
as I looked skyward,
wondering what I would find.

But the other end was quiet
as I waited for a whimper,
a click, a cough.

I stayed on the line
as the sun vanished,
as the light dimmed,
as I asked myself,
had I endured enough?

The only sound I heard
was a tap outside the door.

An elderly woman
peeked her head inside to say,
“No rush my dear,
but I’d like to have my turn.”

Jareen Imam

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