As Mourning Doves Persist

Cream colored telephone in its nicho . Dial tone. Rotary rolling back on itself. Hallway emptied save for the  sweep of mother  i n a wide skirt, handling Marlboros, sparking friends who listen.  Tentative between errands.  Bell that bounces back when knocked to the floor.  Sturdy stationary  cord that kinks up on itself.  More babies born.  Congratulatory calls.  Plugged into the wall,  traveling only so far.  Conduit to grandparents.  Man on the other end,  better than a tin can.  Late for dinner.  Frayed frequency.  Magic string,  superior to yoyo.  Trick to convey whispers. Last minute. Grocery list additions. No other nook but this one. Hard plastic cradle cupped to the ear. Alphabet of neighbors behind walls. Hand folded notes with five numbers. Morse code of fingernails Secrets and children’s temperatures.  Snow days and best friends. Tablets dog e...

           Banjos in the cafe. Garlic in the day's first bite.  Book on my table with only  one chapter left  to savor,  but I draw out  every last  swallow.       To photograph the room is to both shrink  and freeze the chaotic overlaps of Sunday time.  Two men seated beside me imagine aloud together,  hardly touching their food. Potatoes, avocados, single blueberry  scone.      I rol l back the foil to taste.  Fork and knife are of no use.  All fingers on the keyboard. Throat singing. Spoken word. A heart of foam on the surface of  my cup.