Her goodbye, causing the phone to slip from your hand, doesn't hurt anymore. -Stephan Dunn
One day it will vanish?
(Then I am before the vanishing)
I cannot forget
my grandmother's voice
on the telephone
shattering like glass
all over the linoleum floor
of my kitchen.
Looking and feeling,
I, like a five year old child
afraid of the diving board,
handed my mother the phone,
knowing my grandfather had died
after my warm meal on a wooden table
while I was looking out
the kitchen window
and complaining about the snow.
(I am before the vanishing)
I cannot forget
Allison on a park bench
at three in the morning
on an summer Friday.
And how holding her for the first time
felt like the world was back again.
(It's happening)
The memories of my life
before it became two lives
don't want to be clear.
My parents did fight.
I did go to PS 29.
And I used to play ball in the park.
But I can't always see
what I know I saw.
Her goodbye, causing the phone to slip
