<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A long-distance voice\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n That was the last time he called me The voice, hesitant, disembodied, but I could The next time I saw him, he didn\u2019t see me<\/em>. The last time he called me by my name, his voice was <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nby my name. His voice low, rather hoarse.
\nHere and there, he paused; his speech
\nslow, affecting a sadness I wasn\u2019t to know.
\nLong-distance call. Not unexpected. The usual.
\nWhen will you come and visit? (I\u2019d no plan to go.)
\nWhere you are \u2015 is it not cold?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nsee his wrinkled face before my eyes.
\nI was all ears, straining over thousands of miles
\nof under-ocean fibre-optic lines, as if he was just
\nsitting across from me, chatting awhile. A voice
\nso familiar; a voice that told me what to cook and
\nhow to cook it; a voice that talked about cousins
\nI didn\u2019t know, whose name my mind couldn\u2019t hold;
\na voice of being old.<\/p>\n
\nHis eyes moved, but his mind couldn\u2019t;
\nhis body was there, but he wasn\u2019t;
\nhe still made noises, but no voice.
\nI sat beside his bed, holding his hand, trying
\nto keep him<\/em> in my mind, trying to bargain with time.<\/p>\n
\nlow and slow \u2015 nothing much said, nothing significant.
\nThat was the last time he called me, long-distance.<\/p>\n