U up?
I find them in the mornings,
the small hangovers
from last night’s needs.
Tuesday, 2:24AM, Facebook message: “U up?”
Thursday, 4:16AM, Instagram DM: “sup?”
Saturday, 11:51PM, a text: “hey How arc yoou?”
Sunday, 12:01AM, a text: “Hey can u talk otp?”
Sunday, 12:05AM, a text: “CHELS I really need to talk to you.”
Sunday, 12:07AM: missed call.
12:10 am: missed call.
12:12AM: missed call.
12:12AM: missed call.
No voicemail.
Missed call.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Your life, I mean.
You were supposed to
fall in love. You were supposed to
have a friend, or four. You were supposed to
paint or teach or serve coffee or
surf. You were supposed to
leave your house from time to time, maybe
even every day. You were supposed to
know the feeling of the sun on
your face. I was not supposed
to be the sun around which you
spun
and spun
and spun.
But I know you only call me in the night,
brother,
because that is when the voices call
you. And I know that there’s some hope
at first, when they start, because they start
so softly. Hardly whispers, quick
static hisses in your ear, so distant they
are almost only in your head. But I know
that they come closer. And I know
they are persistent. And I know they know
your name. And they know that it is
3AM, and you
are up.
