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Waiting for Your Call by Aria Aber - Poems | Academy of American Poets

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The light retreats and is generous again. No you to speak of, anywhere—neither in vicinity nor distance, so I look at the blue water, the snowy egret, the lace of its feathers shaking in the wind, the lake—no, I am lying. There are no egrets here, no water. Most of the time, my mind gnaws on such ridiculous fictions. My phone notes littered with lines like Beauty will not save you. Or: mouthwash, yogurt, cilantro. A hummingbird zips past me, its luminescent plumage disturbing my vision like a tiny dorsal fin. But what I want does not appear. Instead, I find the redwoods and pines, figs that have fallen and burst open on the pavement, announcing that sickly sweet smell, the sweetness of grief, my prayer for what is gone. You are so dramatic, I say to the reflection on my phone, then order the collected novels of Jean Rhys. She, too, was humiliated by her body, that it wanted such stupid, simple things: food and cherry wine, to touch someone. On my daily walk, I steal Meyer lemons

Waiting for Your Call Add to anthology × Load audio player Aria Aber The light retreats and is generous again. No you to speak of, anywhere—neither in vicinity nor distance, so I look at the blue water, the snowy egret, the lace of its feathers shaking in the wind, the lake—no, I am lying. There are no egrets here, no water. Most of the time, my mind gnaws on such ridiculous fictions. My phone notes littered with lines like Beauty will not save you . Or: mouthwash, yogurt, cilantro . A hummingbird zips past me, its luminescent plumage disturbing my vision like a tiny dorsal fin. But what

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