Telephone by Jill Mceldowney

I am beginning to view the body as a well

I could shout Hello, Hello into—
call it a mistake, hang up

out of alarm, because
            tell me

what you thought you were doing answering
when you’ve been dead five whole years?

And is it really you?
How have you kept alive?

What have you grown
down there in the gloom of after like salt?

Perhaps I should say mine—the body is a salt mine.

And I never call
            but you answer anyway.

Was it ever cheerful?
The sound called ringing.

Don’t talk to me,
please

don’t tell me I need you

disoriented, buried alive,
            clawing your way up from the mouth of a cave to show me

the way home
            and tell me,

            what does this even mean? Tell me to spread open my palms, cut
another deck of cards face up—

these lines arch me far
from home.

            I cannot stop from coming—

are you my fate,
my annihilating angel?

Tell me about my love line, my one day call me
bitch. I love that hands on

unmaking: making
I must impossibly bloom
forth; that tallest mountain.

            I dial the dead and you answer.

Hand me the telephone, let me receive
your ice,
your hour of starving, your nude—promise me
I will die dark haired

and still—maybe one day the dead you and I will burn
buildings together for warmth. You will

            speak to me. Tell me about me.

I want to be believed.
Believe me when I say

            it is love that calls me
            to the cruelty of this world.

 

Jill Mceldowney is the author of the chapbook “Airs Above Ground” (Finishing Line Press) as well as “Kisses Over Babylon” (dancing girl press). She is a cofounder and editor for Madhouse Press. She is also a recent National Poetry Series Finalist. Her previously published work can be found in publications such as Prairie Schooner, Muzzle, Vinyl, Fugue, and other notable publications.

One thought on “Telephone by Jill Mceldowney

Leave a Reply