There are ways an empty place becomes known
such as the ringing and ringing and ringing
of a phone sick with calling abruptly cut.
At these times for no real reason I pick up
the receiver and hum into the near silence
or stand listless listening to the faint dial tone
after I’ve come home, after the soft click of
unlock, and the well worn give of hinge has let
my keys dissolve their utility for the day.
In the kitchen where the faucet drips like
a cymbal keeping a waltz time as hard water
strikes the metal basin I thought maybe
the people downstairs were calling because they
had been kept up all night or…perhaps not.
I peeled a papaya, threw the skin away, and
began to stuff the fleshy fruit down the drain
to mute the drip and shut up the neighbors,
to keep in this place a further quiet.
from Autumn Sky Poetry 9 — by Daniel Casey (formerly Daniel Sumrall)
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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