Classified

I called my wife to say that I had published a poem. It’s in today’s newspaper, I told her. She flipped through the pages. I could hear the paper through the phone. I thought about how clear phone signals had become. No matter the distance between. It astonished me. I asked her, Did you find it. She hadn’t. What ad did you write, she asked. My wife always begins with the classifieds. The poem was on the back of the front section. I wanted to tell her that. But I wanted her to have just known. Without my say so. I told her, look in Help Wanted: Professional. The longest ad in the section. Do you see it? It has a blue star on top. A yellow stripe across it like a sash. I told her these things. It wasn’t clear to me what I was saying or why. She must have found the right ad. I could hear her humming as she read. She sighed. She said, it’s so sign-song and lovely. Like a lullaby or a commercial jingle. She sighed again. I could feel her warm breath in my ear. These connections, I thought, are incredible. Oh, she said, it’s just beautiful, I love it. I nodded into the phone, proud that she appreciated it so. I just wondered what exactly my poem had said. I wanted to ask, but the connection had gone dead.