Summer cycle # 2
by John Siddique
[ poetry - july 07 ]
I wake in the television static of 3.40.
A voice on the phone, then it's gone,
she'd misdialled an old number.
I'd forgotten the sound of her voice.
I think about my family back home
and I let her sound play through me.
She's in a new world; new friends, a new husband.
I'm a new beginning, though something keeps me
moving from place to place with work.
In vague and familiar rooms, we'll
take up new lives, while the spider's web
of inferences spun in the night hangs
jewelled with moisture under the windowsill,
connecting wood and stone with its threads.
Almost translucent. Strong and ready.
