October Phone Call
Listen to Madeleine Cravens read this poem:
I tell Meg I feel dead and she says
you’re not dead you’re just not in New York.
It’s true, there is no music when I lock myself
inside my car, when I pay the toll to cross
the bridge and can’t even see the water.
The man at the Chevron on Perkins tells me
to be happy through the slat above the register:
he says each day is a new chance to pray.
