“I heard your voice,” mom says,
“in the stillness of the house
in its rafters and floorboards, the wood rot
and mildew
I woke from my nap on the living room couch
to your fleeting whisper
interwoven in the white walls like Adam’s ribs
it’s empty here without you
so I called to see if you were okay.
it’s not important anyway though.
I’ll let you go if you’re busy.
Just wanted to know if you’re alright.
It’s good to hear you’re well.
Don’t be a stranger, I love you so.”

The short call glides through the airwaves
as I walk home in a daze.
An apparition, a voice, the threads of vocal cords
are a seismograph
and I, the pen move unwillingly.