Telephone Call

                          From depths of sleep  heard  your voice

                         drifting through my  dream.  Do not recall

                        how  it came about that I was crouching over

                        the  telephone listening to your words in the dark

.

                        Disoriented from lack of presence or eyes to read,

                        guided solely by the tone of your  voice. But as

                        the  inference  of your speech  began  to seep in,

                        I respond with irony at first and then in a feline hiss

                        spat out my rage and  leapt away from instrument.

                        I continued though  to hear you still talking from

                        the dangling receiver, our contact now broken.

                        As  the poignancy of the  call  lingered on for days

                         I savoured  it like blood  one absently tastes

                         from  an unexpected wound.

                                                                                                                                       Antonia Baranov