Long Distance Calls


Sunday evenings we telephone talk:
How are you? The children? Work?

When my phone had a cord, I called
it my umbilicus, a still-born connection

between us. Cellular’s a better go-between,
if there’s no static, or good reception.

To be wireless crosses remote areas
of our buildings and forts, allowing us

a certain detachment, somewhat like messages
played on our answering machines.

The busy tone repeats itself,
I cradle the receiver
with both hands.

As though I could hold onto you.


Lucille is the author of four poetry chapbooks: What You Cannot Have, The Substance of Sunlight, Godd, It's Not Hollywood, and In the Tunnel. She's won awards from Common Ground Review, Palm Beach Repertory Theater, the R. Rofihe Trophy, and others. Her work appears in many publications, including this one, Slant, and Parting Gifts.