The Breather
by Billy Collins
Just as in the horror movies
when someone discovers that
the phone calls are coming from inside the house
so too, I realized
that our tender overlapping
has been taking place only inside me.
All that sweetness, the love
and desire—
it’s just been me dialing
myself then following the ringing to another room
to find no one on the line,
well, sometimes a little
breathing
but more often than not,
nothing.
To think that all this time—
which would include the boat
rides,
the airport embraces, and all
the drinks—
it’s been only me and the two telephones,
the one on the wall in the kitchen
and the extension in the
darkened guest room upstairs.
No comments:
Post a Comment