Surrounded by foreign air
serving my country,
but too young to understand
what that meant in all its heavy.
I had to ring at least ten, eleven numbers
just to try to find your voice.
Sequence for proper phone function
differed in each country
and I never could keep them straight
Pockets stuffed with random calling cards
bearing information I could not translate
The time between pressing over others’ dirty fingerprints
and some sort of ringing connection
was always just long enough to make me
almost give up hope.
Visit Lly Dilettante at Snap Art Poem to see her beautiful photos.