Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, had a hammer named Mjölnir. Mjölnir was considered a fierce weapon that could level mountains and summon lightning with every blow. In this poetry blog, every Thursday, (Thor’s Day), Mjölnir will forge only song - sing of the mysteries and beauties of the world.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

THE AUTHOR

We were going to
talk by phone

but she had to
finish her nails

first. So I waited,
patiently. I measured 

time in my mind
as a gloss

teased, stroke
after stroke,

slowly across
tiny cuticle screens,

where phosphors swam
to the surface

to make light. These were
the minutes I saw,

I counted. But no call
came. No message

either. Nails done,
yet? I wrote, texted

reaching across 
the void. Free to 

talk now? The phone was
no longer a phone,

a tablet, rather, to a false 
telepathy. Writing 

my grandfather’s
eulogy—deep in it,

she wrote back. Can’t
talk tonight. Then I

realized how prolific
she was, how

much she had
authored that evening:

a pedicure, a eulogy
and silence.

And that was why
I loved her, why

she was the light 
of my life that day.



No comments:

Post a Comment