Borrowed Voice

I'm thirty-two, unknown sender, then your voice said, I should have stayed, borrowed voice.

Grey little avatar, no history there
Forty-two seconds filling my left ear
You said, every sentence I begged you to say
I got scared, I still love you, I should have stayed.
The pitch was yours, every soft southern turn
The way you made sorry sound tender and blurred
But you never set my street name that clean
And you always drew breath before saying we.

The pitch, it knew the shape of your mouth
Not the weight behind the sound
I played it one more time.

Borrowed voice inside my phone, every word rife cold as stone.
No jazz squeaked underneath the sound, it wore your voice, not the world around.

Almost you.
Not you.
The breath was wrong.
(Borrowed voice)
(Borrowed voice)

I found your old note from the grocery aisle.
Cartwheel squeaking and you cook it.
Laugh, do we need lemons?
You forgot what came next.
Your living voice wandered.
Breed lost the thread.
This new one landed too smooth on the beat.
No chair in the background, no tongue on your teeth.
Then it called our corner, seventh in Maine.
You called it where the red bus mist doesn't rain.

Borrowed voice inside my phone, every word rife cold as stone.
No chair squeaked underneath the sound, it wore your voice, not the world around.

I almost answered, that's the truth.
Grief gave that message one spare key.
I craved your sorry on that screen.
I nearly thanked a machine.
You can copy the sound.
Your real voice hurt me.
But at least it had to breathe.

Borrowed voice inside my phone, cold as stone, every word rife cold as stone.
Not your own.
No chair squeaked underneath the sound, it wore your voice, not the world around.

One thirty-eight.
Delete for me.
The room breathes back.