The Caller

His voice resonates
of deep tones mixed
with the instinctive throaty sounds
of a lion calling its mate
at day's end

he reads me the poetry
of Kenneth Patchen
his voice so comforting
, so much so ,
I drift off to dreamland.....
I wake to the quiet of the phone
"Hello, hello. . . "
no one is there.

But he calls, again
and says he thought his voice
was turning me on , until he realized
it was not a soft moaning he heard
but soft snoring

Yet, he calls me again
talking of another place
another time , when children
lined up at the bakery ovens
for hot loaves of bread
and tubs of butter , unable to wait
till they got home to eat them;
Of homemade ice cream
and milk in glass bottles
So simple , so sweet is his voice,
he becomes that little boy to me--
Again, I wake to silence.

Still, he calls again
telling me stories
of south sea waters
as smooth as polished glass
and a white bird
gliding with its reflection
barely cutting the surface
in a Naval Amphibious Training Zone,
he is only the age of 17, I ponder
at these simple impressions at a strange time,,
he becomes the hero , , ,

Again I wake up to silence,
'"Hello, hello......"startling me wide awake,
a deep, sleepy voice answers and says
I thought I would shut up for a while
and listen.....
I think I've discovered the secret
of how to wake you .....


karina klesko .