A phone call, or something like it, leaves the speaker reeling. The poem opens with an apology for the call itself, and then circles back again and again to one line: "I couldn't fathom your words." Each repetition shows a different kind of damage. The words pierce the speaker's body, tighten the heart, freeze the feet and make the hands hard to steady. The speaker is overwhelmed, almost physically struck.
The turn comes in the fourth stanza. The speaker admits the words were understood "well" after all, and that pretending they meant nothing didn't work. They still cut deep. The contradictions, "I wouldn't call yet I called," "I wouldn't cry yet I wept," show someone acting against their own resolve, pulled back toward the person who hurt them. The mood is raw, stunned and vulnerable. The closing question, "What did I do wrong?", is left hanging, and it makes the hurt feel unresolved and quietly desperate.