This one is about the conversations we’d like to have, but for some reason we can’t talk to the person we want to.
Long-distance
Travels long-distance from home,
wishing we could call,
just speak on the phone,
all the things left to say.
Scribbles on endless paper,
words calculated like math;
so many words, many strewn.
How we would like to speak.
Throw one to the wind,
listen for the sound it makes,
these vowels and consonants,
rolled out softly in breath.
This is but a whisper,
a small figment of the whole.
Lost sentences are what we have
when we wish to say it all.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 25, 2021
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