I Have This
Stephanie Maher
I have this quiet, constant need
To be saved.
I am home, hoping the phone will ring,
“Your grandfather James has passed away...”
My father would tell me flatly,
Having trouble holding the phone in one hand while he is busy
Untying knots, around wounds his father left on his teenage back.
I would call you
It could be any hour of the night
It would be justified.
“Jon, my grandfather is dead. I just dropped the hot kettle on the floor.”
And then I’d have you here,
My usual voice on the telephone usually not enough.
I would feel less ashamed of this desperate, tumbling love.
