Voice of Honey

Voice of Honey

I wait for Jessica, or the voice
         of Jessica, for I have only seen her twice,
stumbling in wonder. She answers the phone.

         Hey. Her drawl is syrup. My mind drinks deep
of it, soaking itself in the implications.

         She sighs. I was driven off the road
and my car is a charred mass of sculpture,
incinerated. I’m okay. I exhale. I thank
God Almighty for protecting her.          On a dime,
         the conversation turns to comfort
between friends. Coughs tighten my voice. I speak of love -
         meekness and pain in my voice, low on the register.

My fanciest words fail me. The silence
unanswered leads to um um um,
the searching and the zigzagging making dizziness.
         I start a phrase, retracting myself until I stop.
I try to explain                    myself, frazzled,
         until she soothes me. She whispers an end.

The syrupy balm has healed me tonight, but it
has more vessels to fill. The voice douses its sweetness
over many miles of telephone wire, invigorating me
         and others
like manna spread or allowed nectar.