Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

     Once, upon returning from a short trip to Philadelphia where I visited friends, I phoned my father. I said: Dad, I’m home and everything went fine in Philadelphia. I told him about the flight and the weather and about how my friends were making out with things. You know, the kind of things you tell your father about when you return from a short visit to Philadelphia or somewhere. The phone calls are mostly so that he knows I’m still alive.

     He said ‘good’ after everything I told him and when I was finished he asked if I had to go back to work tomorrow. I said yes. After that he said that we should get together for dinner at the end of the week. He suggested sushi. I said that Thursday looked good but that I’d call him later and finalize it.

     I thought that that was the end of our conversation, seeing as how the calls usually ended with us setting up a time in the near future to get together. But, out of the silence that occurs after the last sentence of a conversation has already happened and the two people having the conversation haven’t realized it yet, came my father’s voice.

     ‘I used to go to visit this girl I knew that lived in Philadelphia,’ he said. ‘She lived on South Street. It was the early 70s, I think. Maybe the late 60s. I must of been about 21 or 22, your age. It was a couple of years before I met your mother.’

     ‘That girl and I used to just walk around at night, holding hands and watching people. Maybe get a bite to eat at a little cafe or something. There were people everywhere. Everyone seemed so happy. I was happy...’ His voice trailed off and became silence once again. I thought about the pictures of my father that I had seen from when he was that age. I thought of smooth short hair, thin black tie and dark eyes.

     I closed my eyes. I heard him on the other end of the line. He said my name softly into the receiver. I could barely hear him. He said it again. He sounded thousands of years away. I hardly recognized his voice. It was raining out. The room felt damp.