A woman at work’s cell phone
sounds out a familiar ringtone in
the middle of a meeting, fumbling
she flips it open, turns it off,
acts totally embarrassed. Apologizing.
It’s my father’s ring tone and I think
of him and how the phone was always
in his hand, to his ear, on a table by his side.
I want to find out the name of the song,
it’s robotic-electronic music, generic to
most of the people who have cell phones.
I want to hear it ring again and remember
the man who was always so close to me,
but never near enough, most of the time.
sounds out a familiar ringtone in
the middle of a meeting, fumbling
she flips it open, turns it off,
acts totally embarrassed. Apologizing.
It’s my father’s ring tone and I think
of him and how the phone was always
in his hand, to his ear, on a table by his side.
I want to find out the name of the song,
it’s robotic-electronic music, generic to
most of the people who have cell phones.
I want to hear it ring again and remember
the man who was always so close to me,
but never near enough, most of the time.
3 comments:
This has happened to me, but not with ringtones. With perfumes that resemble those my grandmother wore. I hope you fins what you are looking for.
This one has good movement of thought. You isolated a moment of modernity and brought the universality of sentiment from a tiny article--the ringtone. Good job.
Very moving. Tugs on the heart. Something we can all relate to whether we have a cell phone or not (I avoid one -- too many calls already), but I really liked the poignant emotion in this piece. Even the vulnerability in you when you wanted to hear it ring again. That is like a beautiful child. And beautiful writing. Simple and right to the heart of what is important. Thank you.
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