vacation artifact."Last summer I took my cell phone to the beach,"More Like This
"and the ocean drenched it.
It hasn't worked since then."
She's messy, truly,
a dead battery,
a gauge hovering on empty.
I tell her to call the phone company,
get a back up or refund or some other nonsense.
(her lips didn't move).
For a moment I think
she's going to push me away again,
film up like ankle-cutting sea glass.
"I can't replace it.
I'll lose the last text message
he ever sent me."
I fall quiet because I know.
Today I see the cell phone,