I Called, But No One Answered

by James Lowell

I lost track of how old my father was

Until the day a handwritten note

Whispered through the brass mail slot.

He’d kept on writing off the page,

Pushing ahead where the margins ended,

Leaving me to pick up loose threads.

It was like he was skating on a frozen pond,

Looping illegible backspins

With the inky blade of his shaking pen.

My heart said I should rush to save him

From falling through the thinned ice of time.

I called, but no one answered.

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James Lowell’s work was most recently short- and long-listed for the Fish poetry prize, and has appeared in journals like Canadian Literature, The Caribbean Writer, English, Fortnight, O Miami, Martha’s Vineyard Times, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, The Orchard Poetry Journal, and The Sandy River Review.