Your Voice Echoes

I hear you in the kettle first,

that thin whistle trying to be brave.

The kitchen tiles are cold,

and my sock has a hole that keeps finding me.

﹁﹂

Your voice lives in stupid places

the turn signal click,

The microwave hum at 2:07,

The elevator coughing up strangers.

﹁﹂

I delete old notes like pulling weeds

And somehow the roots stay.

A laugh gets stuck under my tongue,

half yours, half mine,

like a song I only know the chorus of.

﹁﹂

Yesterday I said, “Yeah, sure”

and meant “please don’t leave,”

to nobody,

to the air that doesn’t answer back.

﹁﹂

Even my phone, face down,

looks like it’s listening.

I press play on silence

and still get a replay.

﹁﹂

In the grocery line,

Someone says your name

not your name, but close

And my heart does that dumb little sprint.

﹁﹂

I’m learning: memory is a hallway,

And echoes wear your shoes.

I keep walking anyway,

but sometimes I slow down,

Just to hear if you follow.