Phone Call to Paula
First thunderstorm of spring,
Hinting like your voice does far away,
at power unseen
You answer grumpy, expecting a telemarketer
and find me on the line.
You spark up, “Hey kiddo, I can’t breathe.
Doctor after doctor and they don’t know what the hell it is
and I’m not even smoking any more!”
I still hear ocean in your voice
and you are the first person I have ever met
that truly has a twinkle in their eye
dimmed for the moment by cataracts, damn medications
“But the alternative is much worse.” you say
“Oh well.” you joke a little about giving up
but I hear determination raw and golden in your throat.
“Kiddo I gotta go. Come and see me, it will cheer me up.”
We hang up and the brief storm gives way
to sun and birds and late afternoon
where I sit wishing deep good breath
was something I could send through the mail
like a bouquet of spring flowers arriving at your door.