Call Home

All he wants is the sound of a voice
a hello, how are you,
how is life in the city?

All he gets is unavailable, the chance
to leave a voicemail message,
he tries to make it witty.

He dials the house phone
just to hear his mother’s voice,
a recorded message in bitty

hesitant speech. It’s a comfort
in this lonely place
where there is no pity

for a new face trying to fit in.
He is a silhouette, a needlepoint
in the darkening towers, dizzy,

from it all and longing for contact,
a voice from home
to warm his chilly heart.