Calling at Night
When he phones his daughter
In San Diego
Or his oldest friend
In Philadelphia
His first words
Will be exuberant
To avoid sounding vulnerable,
To conceal the fear
That he will close his eyes
And never open them again.
Instantly their voices
Soothe his spirit
As it becomes a blue rose
He will name Tenderness
For the affection
He will always offer—
He has never once
Picked a rose
From his garden,
Wanting each one
To live, to gradually
Unfold into light.
Michael Miller’s poems have appeared in The Kenyon Review, The Sewanee Review, The Yale Review, and Raritan. His new book, War Zone, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.
Amethyst Review 