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Telephone of the Wind 
by Eddie Kim

For Dad and for Derick
 
 
There is a phone booth in Otsuchi, Japan
where people go to call the dead.
Lovers, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons,
brothers and sisters lining up,
the left-behind people,
whispering caged secrets
into breathless copper wire.
 
         ***
 
Maybe you have never been in a phone booth
before today, nor have you ever used
a functioning rotary phone. Your fingertip holds
an edge and feels sweet resistance –
it keeps you upright –
as it twirls and ratchets back into place
with a satisfying whir. For a second,
it all feels normal…
Then the pulse of dial-tone dictates heartbeat.
A lung-full of steam billows out.
You dial the final number to nowhere,
a silent tone.
 
How have you been?
What have you been eating?
It’s cold today,
wear something warm.
Do you think of me?
 
         ***
 
I’ve been thinking a lot about the dead
of late and what I might say to them. Truth is,
I don’t know. I stand in front of graves
with nothing to say.
Nothing but wind between us.
I’ve seen how it’s done
on television, in theaters,
but words catch.
So wind is what I say,
and I hope you will hear.
 
        ***
 
It feels tacky,
speaking into the wind,
but so does saying nothing.

"Telephone of the Wind" by Eddie Kim. Used by permission of the poet.