Vox Meditantis

I smile and say it’s fine – the phone that glows
with names I haven’t rung back, voices left
suspended in the queue of things I owe.
Tomorrow, says the lie. I’m simply bereft
of time today. But night-time knows the truth:
each notification bears a small, barbed hook
that catches in my chest. I lack the proof
to call it fear, yet cannot bear to look.

“Just ring them,” friends advise, as if the act
were simply movement – fingers, words, hello.
They do not feel the weight of each contact,
the script I’ll fumble, how my throat will close.
So in the daylight, I am breezy, light –
but dread keeps vigil through the restless night.

Each morning brings its pile of small defeats:
three texts, two voicemails, one missed call from Mum.
I tell myself that silence is discreet,
professional, when truly I’ve become
a coward dressed in productivity.
The world spins on. My inbox overflows.
And still I wear my mask of brevity –
So busy! – whilst the underground fear grows.

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved.