Calling My Dead Friends
Yesterday I called Saki and Charlie and John
on their old phones, though
they are long gone, just to hear again
the sound of their voices, the way I might
listen to an old Bix Beiderbecke record
or watch a film with Hedy Lamarr. It felt
good just to hear them again, as though
they were speaking to me through
some technological haze, a bit like I feel
listening to the 50-year-old recording of my
grandmother, giving me advice for the future
when I left for college. You have to be choosy
about your friends, she said, show me with whom
you travel, and I will tell you who you are.
I took her advice, choosing the likes of Saki,
Charlie and John, which is why I love
hearing their voices again, as if they were
whispering no one is ever dead, no one will
ever leave. I now hope someone will keep
my own voice on my phone long after
I’m gone, so that those who have loved me
can call anytime, so that they too can listen
to my voice as if I were still here, as if
I were still singing to anyone who was
interested, to all those who miss me enough
to keep calling– even now, even here.