Jeff Friedman
No One Called
No one called today with bad news.
No one broke down on the phone, describing
how he or she went just like that
with the blink of an eye. No one told me
to take the next plane and get a cab
from the airport. No one wanted me
to tell a funny story or share a memory.
No one expected me to clean out the rooms
and sort through the boxes, setting
aside a box of keepsakes for myself. No one
wanted me to remember how he loved to tell
a joke, how she always listened and laughed.
And no one called my name, waiting for me
as I crouched by the rocks and scattered
the ashes, stirring the river with a stick
until the current caught them.
