The cellular phone from her jean pocket
And cradle it under her chin in bed
Clutch it to her cheek like a little hard pillow,
Lay it like a chilled little hand against her neck
Tuck it into her shirt:
Pressed hard to her heart,
or close under her breast,
or waiting on her sternum,
so his bored text could pretend to be
Some remote touch,
Some tangible thing to shake through her sad skin
But tonight facedowndefeated her ear pressed to the mattress; the thing
lays out of reach, sends vibrations through the metal springs.
They echo like a strange sea creature, low.
Far away mourning in some deep black place.
Out loud, she says the word "no"
And sleeps.
