Telephone

I left home eager for

the taste of new skies.

My mother waved me off

with a kite

and a calling card

and a reminder to call on Monday.

I have called my mother

most every Monday night

for many years.

Long black wires stretch

umbilically across the land,

calling her voice

to me.

Some days I wake, eager to place

handset to ear

to hear the familiar pattern

of her words.

I have used the calling card so many times

my fingers dial it without thought.

Sometimes, when I try to remember the sequence

I have to hang up – I'm lost

but when I am desperate, 
panicky for reassurance

my hand flies

and it rings

and I shudder into the line

shivering thousands of miles

soaring into the night sky

plunging under the snow drifts,

my fears turned copper and steel

until she resurrects me

with a simple hello.

There have been days

when I have left notes for myself

reminding

“call mom”

“don't forget”

“you know she worries”

but still time slides by
When I do call she is regretful

for the week we have lost.

There are days when I can't wait

I must share

my newest crush

or devastation.

and I pour myself

into the cradle

mouthpiece to earpiece.

Some Mondays

our conversation is empty

with weather and work.

She writes lists of things

I must know

and I stack reminders

by the phone.

Some weeks the pile is higher when I hang up.

Our good-byes are long with miles

of regret

and last minute memories

of things we need to share

Every Monday

for twenty years

plus some.

how many days in between 

have I lost?