Unknown Number

by Leah Maitland

I’ve been trying to make a long-distance call to heaven
to speak with you. I was told I wouldn’t have to pay
interplanar fees if I used whatsapp, what with the wi-fi
but it’s been a decade, and I’m still ushered straight to voicemail:
Thank you for calling static pause cannot come to the phone
right now, please leave a message after the hold line
I’ve been on so long; I can harmonize their holy chorus.
With each message I wonder how much you can really hear
from our lowest tier internet plan, our pitiful indulgence,
the prayers and tears that have gone unanswered.
If you’ll ever call back, will it be from a cell,
or will you clink in quarters from orange pill bottles
to a payphone in reply, each cent a millisecond,
remembering our area code when once you couldn’t
recognize my face anymore? Will I be able to hear
your voice, or will you always exist in the sound
of hanging
up
click

Leah Maitland is a poet out of Green Bay WI. Their work has previously been seen in ALT Magazine and Illumination Journal at the University of Wisconsin - Madison.