telephone wife

i pick up the phone to find you
where you live facelessly.
my love is porous. with you
i've found rooms in myself 
i didn't know i could hold.
one for ice cream parlor bowls
& one for broken wine glasses.
before our calls 
i imagine your voice thrumming 
through the cat's cradle 
of telephone lines that nests the sky.
we met by accident. 
me at a telephone booth in berlin.
lost & looking for any kind of mother.
the phone was worn smooth 
from so many hands. i said 
"hilf mir," in a hushed voice
as if the city might hear 
my dislocation. there you were
like a pair of moths. your voice
a silk noose around my wrist,
pulling me back to my front lawn
where a sprinkler chirped 
& a car horn sparkled.
your voice was all it took
to drive the plane 
through clouds. you told me a story
about your hands, how they once
turned into frogs & hibernated
at the bottom of a pond. 
we talked for years 
& when i asked you to marry me
i didn't say, "will you marry me."
i just put the phone to my face
& you said "yes." someday you will
be a body, i am sure of it.
you'll eat a doorframe
with your shoulders. we will
put on a radio & dance
like cake toppers. until then,
i pick up the phone & find you 
where you live facelessly.
your mouth of amythesyt 
& quartz. your sweet round voice.
your unknowable eyes 
like bullseyes. the phone booth
turns upside down. i sometimes
think in german despite 
only traveling for a few weeks.
i still haven't asked where
you're from but i picture 
a small town made of wheat fields.
a windmill at the center.
everyone's voices spilling into recievers
long into the night.

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