Mom — we don’t need phones, you can hear me through the window just fine.
 
She picks up the phone on her rolling table and holds it upside down to her ear.  
Dad is gambling on my shoulder.

   
Mom — Dad is not on your shoulder. Look, I’m not using a phone and you can hear me just fine.

My teeth are falling out. This phone isn’t working.


Mom — your teeth are not falling out.
 She continues talking into an upside down landline.
Mom — please put the phone down. 
The receiver twists in her hand.
 I release an invisible string, a white balloon floats away.

Mom — stop knocking the phone on the table.
Mom — please look at me here standing outside your window.


She built a family with her bones.
 Another balloon floats away.

Mom — would you put the phone down please. I knuckle the glass. 

Mom — for the love of God please put the fucking phone down.


Butterflies flying overhead, so many more this spring. The year of my daughter’s mermaid birthday party I didn’t stare skyward looking for wings that weren’t there. I smiled in my cleverness at having covered our dining room walls with iridescent paper and hanging foil starfish from the ceiling with aqua crepe paper. The room became a magical ocean.

Mom — please stop hitting the phone on the table. 
A wheelchair is talking to Mom’s ass and if she leans too far forward, her tongue might fall out.

Mom — hang up the phone.
Mom — Mom 

I’ll see you tomorrow.
I hang up my pretend phone.



Sometimes, there is nothing more to add than the conversation.
Here’s to Fridays fringed with warm wine, good and red.

am