We talk and talk and talk (and hope)

We talk and hope and talk and hope (and)…

The woman, soft and sparrow-like voice, drinks wine to quell anxieties.

The man, slow and slurred, depressed and agoraphobic, doubts the sun.

A homeless teen. A sex offender.

“Most people who call are lonely” is not the same as “I’m feeling alone. It’s affecting everything I do.” Potential volunteers nod when I talk about callers afflicted with loneliness and mental health problems, their eyes going deep within themselves. One says, “That’s beautiful. I’ll think about it.”

They and we and they and we talk (in silence),

in silence the words we cannot say to one another.

In the middle of the library, I set up signs, missing

and seeing those we help.