01-28-2020, 11:42 AM
Such a sweet and solemn piece. It reminds me of a more common experience when someone longs to hear a voice that that they will never hear again. So they call that person’s phone in order to hear their voicemail, but the inevitable day comes when that number has been disconnected or reused. Even still we dial just hoping. I do not know if the narrator is experiencing a permanent separation, but that is how I read this. The word choices seem great to me. The one minor qualm for me is the fact that the narrator refers to himself as “I” in over half the lines. The focus seems to be on his personal emotions, nevertheless, it seems slightly excessive to me. Thankfully you put line 11 and 12 in this poem. If you had not I would come away hating the son. I still do not like what he did, but it is kind of hard for me to hate him knowing his intentions. With something so simple as a container of fruit you have conveyed some poignant emotions.
Joshua J. Smith