Call Again By Francine White

I want your body
to stop short as you reach
for the phone.
I want you
to wonder if it’s really
such a good idea.
I want you to do anyway.

When you call again
I want to be thinking
of phrases like
“I need some space”
and “she meant nothing
to me.” I want to remember
I last heard them from you.

When you call again
I want to be staring
into a mirror, seeing myself,
maybe for the first time—
I want my hands to be busy
holding my hair in different styles.
I want to be trying on clothes.

When you call again
I want the phone to ring
so loud and so often
that the neighbors come
to knock, check that I’m not
dead, have them relieved
to find me sitting on the patio,
flipping through a book,
biting into peach.

But most of all,
when you call again
I want not
to answer the phone.