After Six
At six the west wall whitens.
I turn the radio down.
My hand stays
on the dial
a moment longer.
The phone lies face-up
beside the cup,
your name unchanged.
I used to let it ring once
before answering,
finishing whatever small thing
my hands were doing.
The minute passes.
No sound comes.
The light moves on.
The radio stays low.
The spoon between my fingers
does not reach the cup.
—
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