Terror Hiding In the Phone

A terror hides in the phone,

Hanging on the kitchen wall,

Ringing over and over,

Until I  pick up the receiver.

A haunting voice speaks,

"Hello, this is the hospital.."

That voice kicks my gut

Stands on my chest,

And bangs my head.

"Your son has been in a motorcycle accident"

Repeats over and over,

In my head, 

While I listen.

While I try to listen.

While I try to undo

What I'm listening to.

"May we have permission

To treat him?

He's had a severe head injury.

May we have permission

To treat him?"

Terror wraps its thorny tail

Around my chest.

"We'll call back

When the doctor knows More."

There's more?

What more?

What?

Terror scratches a whisper,

"They don't know

But there is more."

"Your son has been in a motorcycle accident"

Repeats over and over,

In my head.

I want to go.

Go to our son.

Go protect our son.

Go save our son.

Make sure he's cared for.

Make sure he'll be fine.

I stare at the terror

Hanging on the kitchen wall

Waiting for it to ring.

Waiting, praying, begging

For the voice,

The doctor's voice,

To squash the terror,

And say our son is fine.

A terror hides in the phone,

Hanging on the kitchen wall.

I wait, staring at the terror

Knowing it is hiding

In the phone.