excerpt from a sunday afternoon conversation
...was the name of rain and the sound of its tears. It was the faint sound of] Three fifty-six. Silence. [The faint sound of a car gone by outside. The receiver was beginning to hurt my ear. I needed to talk to you. I needed you to know I cared.] Silence. I asked another question (the score is now 10 to 2). The words you spoke: I had a good time, saw a lot of plays. What you said: Nothing. Silence. [The faint sound of time, which I never heard before and never heard since, being dislocated, warped so that each second passing was] Three fifty-seven. Silence. Eternal. I asked another question (the score is now 11 to 2). [The faint sound of your sigh was a fingernail, piercing my heart, and drawing just a pinprick of blood from my veins. A tear from] The words you spoke: I'm meeting a friend for dinner. I gotta go. I'll see you thursday. What you said: You are not a part of me...

©1997 Timothy A. Clark