Cell Phone Screen

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Cell phone screen illuminates
sans serif letters
that you typed to me.

I don’t know how it started
but now that it’s
going I never want to
lose that textual connection
we seem to have.

When the yellow envelope
with the promise of a
new message from you
pops up
on my screen
I can’t help but smile.

And try not to respond
too quickly. That
would make me seem
desperate.

Which maybe I am
because
I jealously cherish the
words meant for me.

Like when you said
I was special
I was a princess
you said.
And apparently more interesting
to stay up talking to than go
to sleep.
I’ll do that in school,
you said.

And we wrote poetry about
dawn and semi trucks
as I became farther and
farther away from you.

And what we have so
far has depended on the
gradually decreasing battery
life of my cellular device.
But I don’t mind that
because I hope our
exchanges can survive
more than a dead
battery.

You’ve instilled a charge
in me that’s different
than ones before.

They were too unattainable,
or too awkward
or didn’t even know my name.

But while you might not
be the model
of perfection,
I care more about the
words and the
laughs and the way
you look right at me
when we talk
because you care enough.

I should have been
asleep two hours ago
but I just kept
promising myself
15 more minutes with you.

When we parted at
1:30 a.m. after three hours,
it can only be
morning magic.





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