Ghosts
A phone rings
in a cavernous hammock.
I have no presence here
only the prodding obligation
to respond
in a dark room.
“Hi Mum, Hi Dad.”
(this said
before I find my hands)
The phone falls dead.
Its electronic silence
hums like a trapped fly.
Later I swing inwards
retracing a long flex.
along to its disconnection.
A whirling dial.
My parents.
are trying to ring me
from a Bakelite planet.
A place where
tinny intonations
are too outmoded now
to be received.
(C) Eric Ashford July 08
Comments
I sure do like this, Eric. the emotions ring true for me. :) The second line doesn't do it for me. I have trouble placing the cavernous hammock, but keep thinking of the cradle of the phone. Maybe a cradle is the image and actuality here that might help. I like the dream-like tone of this piece, the surreal quality.
"from a Bakelite planet" is a brilliant line. It is surreal and implies the great distance of time. The last stanza sends a chill up my spine. Where the dead cannot reach us, because the technology is outmoded: "tinny intonations." This is a lovely and publishable piece, Eric. Thank you so much. I just read very good work here and on Renee's blog. I feel uplifted.
Lucy
Yes, the telephone cradle and the hammock of deep sleep was
the association I was looking for. Maybe the line will feel better
to you knowing this.
Thanks Lucy, I am pleased that, with the above reservation, this poem
made a connection with you. I think the theme is universal if you are
of a certain age and have that long a memory!
e
Thanks blue
:-) e