Photographic artwork by Kris Saknussemm
Call Waiting
It pretty much went extinct in the '90s.
Before Caller ID, I'd lift the phone
from its cradle mounted on the kitchen wall,
pull the cord, untangle the o's from the u's,
proclaim our residence and wait.
If it wasn't for me, and it rarely was,
I'd take a message and a number.
If I was alone, I'd never say so,
only that mom and dad were unavailable
in case the tinny, disembodied voice
on the other end had bad intentions.
You stay safe and represent your family
in a way that would make them proud.
I am thinking about this on a Thursday,
on the couch, lost again inside my phone,
my wife, two seats over, lost in hers,
our daughter in her room, logged in.
I am thinking, with more than an ache,
about the lost world of my youth,
when a single phoneline could dangle
to the floor and somehow bind a family.
