In my left ear an underwater orchestra
plays a low-fi Romeo and Juliet.
I am hanging on at the station,
Tchaikovsky on hold, my eyes squinting
at a flickering board of delays
and cancellations, both lover and traveller.
Absence is a thing you can hear.
I could press stop, but it lacks romance.
I want to hang up, have the satisfaction
of the receiver’s bold crash.
Instead I am drowning in violins.
I miss the letting go and the breathing out,
the slam of bells understood as goodbye.
Maria Taylor