Member Poem

It's Saturday, June 22nd, 4:05 pm. I'm calling from St. Roberts to let you know that -- to let you -- to tell you . . . I'm calling because . . . can you call me back? Just call me back when you can, and I'll tell you . . . or that is -- call me back. I'm calling on the 22nd; it's in the afternoon. Air and breath. A taste of parsley oil breath freshener drifting across the line, and stale menthol slims sticking to the walls. The call of a cardinal, wild with life and brilliant red, scheduling an appointment to mate, from across the still-thawing wet field.