My hungry hand scrapes the bottom
of the brown takeout bag
grasping the plastic wrapped
a fortune cookie.
I pick up my phone to call you.
Punching your number in
I trash the plastic wrapper
cracking the cookie in half like a great ship
upon the rocks.
“I heard your bad news,”
I practice saying
“I wanted to tell you, I’m thinking of you,”
and it rings back to me.
There inside the cookie is a massive gathering
The phone goes to voicemail.
“Leave a message,” it says to me
in the ghost of a hungry voice.
Day #26 of #nationalpoetrymonth | Cover image: Kelly Sikkema