THIS OCEAN SUCKS SO HERE IS A PHONE
for Kay Lea Meyers
There is something in my phone.
It says, “Fuck talk.”
Language is not something I’m trying to fuck.
Rather, there are many shapes being sent through.
Who collects all the voicemails when we are done?
In my oratory lessons
I practiced how to say, “How are you?”
neutrally, because I know this isn’t part of the conversation.
There was so much information I had to offer.
Really needed to tell you about the mountain I am calling stasis
the mountain I am calling my mind--
how I pre-conceived clarity
or that the buzz in the ear
tells me the animal is quietly getting louder.
On the other side of this phone
you are still a body
sitting in a laundry basket
moving a paperclip
around in your hand.
Fidgeting with a light switch
wondering if I can see the shadows
on your face, or hear them.
Calling from other countries
the phone was gold and I thought
you might somehow know
because it is what you wanted for me, then.
I slept four hours
and then there were foreign birds,
I thought, “What a time.”
I’m not getting ahead
because to do so one must step out of line.
The way that I wasn’t sleeping.
Often the case of our proximity.
Someone translates the future-tense
of our wedding.
Or out of Spanish,
“We are going home.”
From under couch cushions
I would not say I love you
but an errant foot, in Spanish
with becitos and alfajores.
I built a raincoat so big
that rain doesn’t happen anymore
because of this human-
The hard truth restores itself
but cannot become more hard.
I’ve walked until there
is no circumference left.
Zachary Green received his B.A. in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago. His work as appeared in Columbia Poetry Review, South Loop Review, Cavalier Literary Couture, plain china, and the Desperate Reader anthology. He was selected as the second-place recipient for the 2010 & ’11 Elma Stuckey Poetry award selected by Jaswinder Bolina. He now operates The Good Neighbor Series out of Peterborough, NH.