New Stories

(image via splityarn of Flickr fame)

Thinking that the person
who was calling
was you,
I dove right in
with endearments.
But she was calling about
some mail that
had gone wrong.
She was not you.
Was, in fact,
a complete stranger
with whom we share
a house number,
though not a street.

We got it all untangled:
the mail at her house
meant to be at ours,
the words in my mouth
meant for you.

And now,
both of our families
have stories
about me
speaking,
for a moment,
with such tender devotion...
to her.