please_come_home raze you drive off in search of the source of the sound that's torn this dying day in two. a trip that should take five minutes puts on weight until it's ten times its intended size. your cell phone is charging in the dish rack. i start imagining all the ways this could have gone wrong. i picture myself prodding the police for information about an accident involving anyone who might match your description. or hunting for the last of you in the hospital where your father died of a broken hip. or setting out on foot to scream at a sky studded with stars. i don't pray to the god i don't believe in anymore. i just say, "please come home." and when i've said it so many times that the words have lost their shape and become an anguished invocation, you answer the call. 250620 what's it to you? who go blather from