please hang up and try your call again

by Assia Messaoudi

the morning the sun 
collapsed over my home
destroying the walls and pipes
burying me in a makeshift catacomb
i was wearing your favourite colour

i have a problem with abandonment 
i turn everything into a keepsake 
until i have 500 contacts on my phone
momentary encounters spread
between the monikers of those i love most

i accidentally typed 
the first two letters of your name
your contact photo hit me 
like steel rod to bones

a simple misplacement of my fingers
expelled you from my hippocampus
staining the floor where you landed
forcing me to face the mess
my derelict love had created

the memory of you burned 
behind my lids
sockets filled with ashes
from closing my eyes

i grasp this grief in my balled-up fists  
it hides like soot beneath my fingernails
each crescent shaped cut
is a reminder of the funeral 
i never got to attend 

you called me two days before your death
received an endless ringing
that’s familiar to me now
my voicemail was full 
of missed opportunities

i wonder if your number 
belongs to someone else now
i wonder if their laugh
could permeate an empty room

i wonder if i’m more afraid of
an unfamiliar voice,
a busy signal,
or a prerecorded message telling me 
like you, 
the number no longer exists

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Assia Messaoudi (she/they) is an Algerian poet living in Toronto, Ontario. Assia’s work has been featured in the Humber Literary Review (2017), tenderness lit magazine (2020), FEED Lit Mag (2021) and her book I Promise I Still Love You (2018). You can get in touch with Assia on her website assiamessaoudi.com.