Maybe there was too much wind,
but I couldn't make out the words
you spoke
over the crackling of static
in the phone connection
as the car drove on across the road
between sand dunes
and as I half-closed my eyes and listened
to your voice – instead of the words –
it calmed me down –
like chamomile tea before bedtime.

But then I heard the word “Dad”
and I heard the word “gone”
and I didn't know what to say
so I just uh-huh-ed along.
Knowing perfectly well
that you knew perfectly well
I could hear you –
perfectly well.

And when the static got worse,
you yelled out, screamed –
“I know you're in pain,”
I wanted to say,
“I know you miss him,”
I wanted to tell you
but I was pretending I could not hear
your sobs over the crackling.

The wind was blowing the sand toward
the car, and as I finally spoke up and said,
“It's gonna be okay –”
as I uttered that one mechanical lie,
the connection was stolen
by the wind blowing south.
I had to wipe my tears away
and text you back –
“I'm sorry.”