Poetry / The Next Call

I.

The telephone brings death,
That fucked up girl, three times.  
The first, we get all near;
All intimate and night-time hot.

My mother talks, some absent minded chat;
Then, feeling flushed, just drops the phone.  
Unclasps and flattens, linens of collision
As her clothes recline.

Her heart a gangman’s bicep bulge,
A hangman’s trap of unswung weight,
All slack and gone.  
Not even time to call her husband’s name.
That quiet has no shape.  

Just there and then not.

II.

The second call for me: the news.  
The kids know now they can’t complain,
As I thank God for TV and some time to recompose.  

The cool blue tile,
My bathroom’s shabby failure,
Mocks my breathing.
I’m a horse’s ripped thigh, gasping.
I’m a rock song turned right down.
All forced calm, just as Dad was
When he called her name
Or told me then to come.
Come now.

His panic, I can’t contemplate but he’s:
Shaking.
A shivering frost of shock.
A mirror of what’s not.
Hot pulp.

It turns out that is what it does.
The heart pumps quick and cock-hard
Then just empties out

And with it her too.

III.

The third, her sister’s voice.
It’s flimsy lilt from young to old,
She says my name, but it’s a question,
Untrusted words, like two old men for sons.
Her man a brittle boy who barely eats,
She could crush him like a sycamore leaf left out to dry
But does not.

Back amongst her own concerns and ours,
Her far off words clip teeth and tongue
And six weeks later she is dead herself.
With a small hours shout of, Ma!

Her leg lopped off for rot, at least two strokes,
It seems she went off bit by bit
Or so I like to think.
Her smoker’s chuckle thick with spit,
The watery shine of old gal’s eyes,
Her jokes, their steel spoon rattlely clink.
She calls out, Da!

He takes her quick.

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PenelopeMV avatar General Friend

December 29, 2008

PenelopeMV

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PenelopeMV reviewed Version 1 - Read 100% of the Item

Death comes to the belltower and whispers into all our ears. I’m here.
Death does not play a part in this poem, but it’s presence certainly does. I do like how you’ve focused on the people affected by the deaths, and the descriptions especially of the mother’s smoker’s chuckle. Nice touches through out.

jebozid avatar General Stranger

August 06, 2008

jebozid

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jebozid reviewed Version 1 - Read 100% of the Item

I.
In the 3rd line “we” is very vague. I could only assume it’s you and your mother, but “intimate and night-time hot” brings that idea down.
The first stanza reads like it doesn’t even belong in here, the following two stanzas seem to describe the mother’s demise, but I’m not sure how. She’s naked (clothes recline) but it’s not clear what really happens here.

I think ‘biceps’ is the correct term not bicep.

II.
What I’m getting here is that your father phones you and tells you your mother is gone. Maybe he killed her? Also the pictures are mixing in a confusing way, especially the mention of “my bathroom” and later the “mirror”, which are IMO not in the same room (though mirror is probably a curiously placed metaphor)

III.
her sister’s voice. – I’m going to guess that “her” means your mother’s

And six weeks later – this breaks the continuity, all is happening in those phone calls and seems current, and this shifts it all 6 weeks in the future

Also, I see much vagueness here, you should maybe use the names of these persons, all the he-s and she-s are making this interesting read much harder to understand as you intended it.

I like the idea of the 3 phone calls very much, and the dark atmosphere you’ve accomplished, but ask your self what parts could you make clearer for the readers, on which parts you want your emphasis to be.

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youngjed

Age: 39
Loc: United Kingdom
Gen: M
Last Login: January 01
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