A Voicemail from Jimmy
I know it will go away one of these days.
But for now, I still have it stashed away.
a voice message from two years ago.
It starts “Scott, this is Jimmy Cvetic.”
Jimmy calling my phone while I was
likely still in bed. Leaving this voicemail
for me, saying, “I wanted to tell you that
I liked your book.” Jimmy saying I have
nice style and saying that word “style”
like Bukowski, his hero. Jimmy says
it’s a good book—“And I’m not saying
this to blow sunshine up your ass, ok?”
he says. Then the message winds down.
I know this old cell phone will one day
delete the voicemail or else not turn on
one morning, but for now I still have this
little bit of sound saved there, this moment
before he was gone. We’ve got his poems
and I have this voicemail. I have it saved.
For now. So that if I want to, I can hear
his voice again—maybe just once more.
I stayed up late last night getting drunk by myself.
I put records on & filled a pipe as much as I liked.
I didn’t feel bad about it. In fact, I felt pretty great.
My Pale Blue Heart
for Meghan Tutolo
I’ve never seen the thing, but it’s in there—
oh baby, I know it. I can feel that it’s there.
Couldn’t tell you why it’s pale blue though.
That’s a mystery. Because I’m cold as ice?
Because I’m an Aquarius and love to swim?
Or because I’m a sucker for a good moon?
Why is anything the shade it appears to be?
Because of refracted light, I suppose. Right?
I’m okay with my heart being pale blue.
Makes me feel like a blue-blood—fancy!
Most days I feel pale blue. What’s in
your heart? What color’s your blood?