The Phone Call
/em>Over breakfast, pouring coffee, buttering toast,
the phone rings, I answer. It is her sister,
she's weeping --- father dead.
Looking across the table at her,
I recall last night, restless words,
words spoken as she slept.
This morning those dreams seem to have been
clouds taking shape before a storm,
a Greek chorus reciting elemental spells,
cast against the coming of the day./em>
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
