Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Phone Call, a poem

Photo Courtesy of Rob Hanson for One Stop Poetry
The Phone Call

I close my eyes and
hear your voice, faintly.
My memory flutters
and skips like an old
movie reel, your voice
distorted; static and distantly
urgent, you told me
you loved another.
I clasped the receiver
for hours.   Did I think
I was holding on to you?
An antique now,
it gathers dust
along with my dreams,
ripped out of the wall,
its purpose, its life
ended.  As mine did
the last day you called.

by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, June 12, 2011

This is for One Stop Poetry's "One Shoot Sunday".  Rob Hanson is the photographer that was interviewed.  My week has been so hectic and I had hoped to spend more than 15 minutes on this!  But the midnight hour is upon me so... it is what it is! 

6 comments:

texwisgirl said...

you just rip a person's heart out... whew...

Reflections said...

Wow... fabulous piece. Piercing the heart, pulling the wires...err... ripping at the tightly wired heartstrings.

dustus said...

Powerful emotions and great imagery. The part that really got to me was
"you told me
you loved another.
I clasped the receiver
for hours. Did I think
I was holding on to you?"

Intense poem. Riveting.

Ann Grenier said...

Oh, love this. What a great response to the promt!

Ruth said...

Beautifully done, Margaret. The sound and image of the old movie reel is wonderful for your voice's metaphor. Holding on to the receiver, as onto the lost lover, is perfect.

Ginnie said...

Exactly as Ruth just said. Ditto!