I AM THE COWARD WHO DID NOT PICK UP THE PHONE

I am the coward who did not pick up the phone, so as never to know. So many clocks and yardsticks dumped into an ocean.

I am the ox which drew the cart full of urgent messages straight into the river, emerging none the wiser on the opposite side, never looking back at all those floating envelopes and postcards, the wet ashes of some loved one's screams.
How was I to know?

I am the warrior who killed the sparrow with a cannon. I am the guardian who led the child by the hand into the cloud, and emerged holding only an empty glove. Oh--

the digital ringing of it. The string of a kite of it, which I let go of. Oh, the commotion in the attic of it--in the front yard, in the back yard, in the driveway--all of which I heard nothing of, because I am the one who closed the windows and said This has nothing to do with us.

In fact, I am the one singing this so loudly I cannot hear you even now.
(Mama, what's happening outside? Honey, is that the phone?)

I am the one who sings, 

The bones and shells of us.
The organic broth of us.
The zen gong of us.

Oblivious, oblivious, oblivious.


-Laura Kasischke