Telephone Conversation

When we talk on the telephone, we feel our loss more heavily. i stare at the slits, the box that sells her voice to me. i hold the phone like a live thing, like part of her. it holds a sound i love. yet i hate the upright coffin, its pimply walls, the printed admonitions lining it, for being in control of our feeble conversation. there are things unsayable in it. as though the wires were jealous.