GILLIAN MOORE
no missed calls
poetry finalist in our 2020-2021 Writing Contest
she says the dishes cannot pile up if they are one
and I remind her that we are two, and
she says I love you before she hangs up the phone
she says where is all of this dirt coming from
I say, almond milk
she says no, thank you
she says do you think flies get so close to our faces
because they’re trying to ask for help, she says
look,
if that saxophone don’t sound like it’s been chainsmoking
for at least a decade then you’re doing it wrong
she says try to be in the present, will you
so I light a cigarette and she says
don’t you ever think about the future
she says the body really is the ultimate barrier
to the soul and isn’t it a wonder they haven’t found
a workaround yet, she says, I don’t know
about this whole free will thing
I say maybe there’s no great metamorphosis here,
maybe it’s just the same old self
and a higher odometer reading
she says morning is an excellent time to be alive
don’t you think
she says when you’re dead you’ll have forever to haunt this place
what are you doing wasting your life on it, she says
Jesus could walk on water because he wasn’t
dense like you
she says you sound like you’re doing what dogs do
when they suddenly understand that they’re dying
she says, it’s like this. it’s like you’re driving around a city
that used to be beautiful—maybe used to be yours, even
—and then everything is closing, forever.
there aren’t any signs in the windows or anything like that
but you just know. even the places that just opened,
the banners are still out there, promising you grandeur
they’re all just closing, she says
for good
she says the dishes cannot pile up when they are one
and she is right. I say I love you
she says
Gillian Moore is a semi-starving poet living in Western New York—no, not the city—who hopes to one day change a headlight in under an hour. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram @hoboglyphs.