remembrance

February 27, 2001

the phone call came
unexpected and dreaded
the man, thirty years
my teacher, more recently
colleague and friend,
dying

most days, we spoke
on the phone, his warm
disembodied voice
on Maui
mine on the mainland
and now, no more

silenced by coma
no chance
of goodbye
the slant of light
turned strange
the chill winter air

no feelings, not yet
a sinkhole close by
opening wider, wider
my fingers begged
to pick up the phone
just one last time

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.