Voicemail Poems

i. In the other world, everything smells like cherries. Every phone call is the news of someone's death, and every cigarette is candy. In the other world, you tell me you do not love me every day, and our bed is made from cedar trees. The horses run rider- less and frightened, chased by men with bottles for weapons and collarbones made of ice. The plains are a burnt orange in the other world, and everyone reeks of a longing to understand. ii. In the other world, she never died, and everything tastes like gunmetal. Everyone washes themselves in coldness and sleeps in the bath. In the other world, I tell you to keep the dogs at bay, and our bed is made from palm leaves. The ocean laps at sand that is still glass, riddled with shipwreck. The mountains tumble down themselves in the other world, and everyone speaks to each other in tongues. iii. In the other world, everything sounds like a heart- beat. Everything is made of tinsel, multi-colored, and glows in the dark. In the other world, we tell each other e