Voicemail

Voicemail after voicemail.
Same sentence.
Different weather.
Kitchen laugh.
Car-window hush.
Hospital fluorescent.
Backyard blush.
Airport static.

Each time, new weight.
Sometimes vow.
Sometimes cover.
Sometimes weapon.
Sometimes another.
I filed them, date, tone, dial, pause,
until my chest became an archive
where every replay rewrites
who we were.