getting the bad news

The muted black phone vibrated
the green painted mahogany night table
with a giant blare of bells to proud
as they broke the 4a.m. hush.

three yeses and a gasping sob
before he fell. my sequoia. my eternal strength.
to the soft familiar carpet our feet had trod for years.

I raised him up in my young-man arms
to carry him bacl to the edge of his queenless mattress
where we sat to cry. where we sat wordless
drenched in sobs for the endlessness of love

later we would return to that spot
holy with the scent of her and canada mints
later we would return to almost-heaven
and find a black phone above her bible.

many times the bells would blare
in a paired refrain, "come back! come back!"
many times, but never once did we hear her voice
again.