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Reaching for the Phone (Cortland Review; November 2017)

Rob Jackson
Cortland Review
Journal Volume/Pages: 
Volume 77

Reaching for the Phone

When you'd gone, I couldn't unwrap grief
with the wreaths and presents,
like opening the panes
of the hand-drawn Advent calendar early.
On the twelfth day the ornaments came down,
each glass bird shrouded in tissue,
the lights a bundled tangle.

At Epiphany, we burned trees at dusk
in a circle of hands, blaze to ashes.
I touched the glowing embers
of my phone, then darkened them, undialed,
the receiving line dead. 
Cold wedged in
like a box sealed for the last time.