You return

Floating bits of letters
return to my hands.
God knows it’s always been me
at the telegram,
caressing a shiny button of hope
that words will get someone on my side again.
Too foolish owning a drawer
that they all have the keys to.

Maybe–
you could need someone
from time to time,
the way I do too.
And to receive the words,
to hear a call back to you from across
the invisible barriers and shields
a call that is a cup of warm tea,
one that nestles around you like a sleeping cat,
one that holds out an outstretched hand and not an upturned palm–

I wonder if you truly know what that means.