in search of 
an answering machine 

blue-mouthed
& eager--
will you read
me through my new
wax paper skin?
do text messages
travel 
on the wing-beat
of the hummingbirds
or have they 
resurrected the carrier
pigeons for us?
just between me & you--
we surpass the 
intricacies of
satellites
& put our trust in
the birds--
pull the alphabet from
space--
each 'i' & 'u'--
construction paper
moon--
do you hear
my words 
passing treacherously
through the jaws
of the grey
night clouds?
astray in the astral
air-- between 
the furious heat
of stars--
why isn't that anger
enough to melt 
the doors
of my house?
i want to feel
the texture
of your palms--
enough
to give my
bones bat
wings--
do they 
use echolocation?
will they remember
to tell you
'i love u'
even though
i send the same
message every day
month 
after month
after month--
words 
intrepid breathing
of air--
where are you when
i send you
'good morning'
at three in the afternoon
because my concept
of a day beginning
keeps stretching
taller & taller
as the sun stubbornly
crawls into
bed too early--
pulls the covers over
her head & stays away
only to scroll
on her phone--
oh i sometimes
forget the sound
of your voice-- 
oh i sometimes 
hear the
hummingbirds
smack against
the back door--
their bodies crumpling
like wades of
sketch paper--
our house has
no answering machine
anymore--
i hear the reverberations
of my phone calls
as they're swallowed
up by the collective
of all these basements--
i send you hummingbirds
in the hopes there
are flowers
growing
somewhere in that house
on noble street--
maybe the african
violets from mother's
day have
survived by the
kitchen skin--
maybe the orchid
in my bed room
got back her head--
oh if you had
an answering machine 
i would have to hang up--
anxious to not
leave my 
misplaced teeth
beneath
your pillows--
instead of let
the phone ring--
it does not
plan on stopping--
each ring sounding
more & more like
the moan of a sea monster--
the deep pulse
of hawk wings--
in the window 
come the big black
birds-- the birds
made of shadows--
i hand them 
my text messages
& they scoop them
up in their talons--
they
tell me next time
i should
rely on the satelittes
like a normal
girl & i 
tell them i'm not
a girl--
& they laugh--
their
voice
crumpling--
i keep believing
that if i don't
hang up i will
eventually reach
an answering machine--
that someone will pick up
& listen just
to the simple
rhythm of my breathing--
they'll remind
me that i am alive--
blue mouthed &
terrified--
what kind of
poems do you hear?
i trust the birds--
where they carry 
my text messages 
is between them
& god--