after
people you love, or dearly
liked, had
passed away
that they
could answer their
phone on the other side
or at the very least
text.
heaven, a free call,
and hell collect.
i count the numbers
of such
departed souls
on my own cell phone,
and reach seven.
some older than me,
some younger,
men and women alike.
some relatives, including
my mother.
i'd like to give her
a call one sunday
afternoon,
like in the old days,
and hear her talk about
the red sauce
she's stirring
as she stands at the stove,
with her parakeet
singing, asking if six
o'clock, for dinner would
be alright.
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