They Never Call Back

Each section is based on the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the day from July, 2024.

I. aglu, n.

Why is it so hard to breathe?
Oxygen is
all around me.

Everyone else moves around
unburdened,
full-lunged.

Why is it so hard to move?
My fingers, toes
feel, twitch.

But I am stuck here, a bench
overlooking
a glacial valley.

II. nidorosity, n.

When I move, my joints
sound like gravel underfoot.

As I walk, no one
walks beside me.

Repugnant is what I am—
worthless.

III. mouffle, n.

Stare at myself in the mirror
when shadows don’t let me sleep.

Lights are brighter at 3am;
they show more detail.

It’s my nose, probably,
that deters people.

Explanations don’t bring any comfort,
nor do they help me sleep.

IV. âme damnée, n.

I hate being alone, but
I fear finding someone too.

What if someone deems me
worthy of time, attention,

and I lose myself completely?
It’s clear to me:

I would do anything they’d ask
to stay in their orbit.

V. glamorgan sausage, n.

I feel like an
imposter among humans—
better stay inside.

VI. funiliform, adj.

I pull the rope,
close the curtain
on my performance
in the role
of Normal Person.

VII. niddick, n.

My brain is
against me.
I feel it
when an earthquake
spans my neck
when I see
a loose cable.

VIII. wobbulator, n.

Clouds part;
it becomes clear
for an instant:

I need help.

IX. muck sweat, n.

My insurance company’s website
has an unintelligible interface.

Play Spot the Difference while
scrolling through dozens of names.

Dry my palms on my shirt,
dial a number into my phone.

Run my fingers through my hair
as rings echo through my skull.

X. clicktivism, n.

Mumble through a voicemail,
repeat my number at the end.

Breathe. Breathe. Find air.

Open YouTube, start my playlist
of dogs reuniting with their owners.

A golden retriever leaps into the arms of a soldier
standing in the threshold of his home.

Breathe. Breathe. Find air.

A woman explains how she sets up her room
for her online therapy sessions.

XI. dad joke, n.

Some 3am googling
says socializing 
can stabilize mental health.

As I collect carts
in the Costco parking lot,
I smile, wave at customers.

When I return them
to the entrance, I say hi to
my coworkers, ask about their day.

Haltingly, I attempt a joke
to build camaraderie.
They suddenly need to get back to work.

XII. cryptomnesia, n.

Google isn’t a doctor.
An algorithm isn’t a person.

I should talk to an actual human
with a degree.

I should see if there’s anyone
in my insurance’s network.

XIII. eeksie-peeksie, adj.

After several hours
figuring out someone to call,
it turns out
I had called them already and
they never called back.

I open Instagram, watch a capybara
balance an orange on their head.

XIV. mythoclastic, adj.

Another online therapy ad
interrupts the flow of my scrolling.
Maybe they call people back.
Maybe they acknowledge
the dregs at the bottom of the mug.

My shaky thumbs
google the name,
but the autocomplete
adds the word
‘controversy.’

XV. ceol, n.

Leave my phone
by my water glass
sitting in its own sweat.

Need to make dinner.
Humans need food
to fuel their organs.

Ask the robot
who’s always listening to me
to play Cavetown.

XVI. fascinate, v.

See the coiled belt
on top of my dresser.

There is no escape.
They will never call you back.

See the coiled cart strap
by door to the break room.

Time is a flat circle.
You will feel this way forever.

XVII. latter wit, n.

When I’m out of the fog,
I don’t understand
what felt so logical
before.

XVIII. scringe, v.

Stare at myself in the mirror
when the sun leans on the windows.

Every mistake, every fumble
stares back at me.

Anger wells in their eyes, comes out
as spit launched at my face.

Clench my fist, swing,
make them go away.

XIX. ryepeck, n.

Shards fall like hail
over the bathroom counter.

Several stand in pools of blood
on the back of my hand.

XX. cook, n.

There’s something satisfying
about the way the glass bites
the muscles in my hand
as I clean up the bathroom.

XXI. plum bird, n.

I can hear birds in the tree
outside my dining room window
as I bandage my hand.

Their whistle sounds celebratory.

XXII. mwah-mwah, v.

The sun presides over the parking lot
in a cloudless sky.
I gather carts in the corral by the gas station.
A woman holds a child’s hand as

she pushes her cart toward me.
She looks just like my mom.
She even does that annoying air-kiss thing as
she says goodbye to another mother putting her kid in a Subaru.

XXIII. teleguide, v.

Maybe I should call my mom?
She could have an idea
of how to help.

My phone feels heavy
as I scroll through my contacts.
I remember

the track she kept me to,
the lack of choices I had,
the clack of her nails on the counter. 

XXIV. buko juice, n.

Put the phone down.
Take a drink.
Think over pros and cons.

XXV. ravalement, n.

I am a broken mirror
trying to reassemble itself
piece by piece.

But, there's no foundation,
no reference poster
for what I'm supposed to be.

What if I get my dimensions wrong?
What if I spread myself too thin?

XXVI. raggare, n.

My dad was never around.
He was always off at car shows,
parading his Roadster around.

He would be no help.
He probably barely remembers
my name.

XXVII. dinki mini, n.

All around me, people go in pairs:
an old couple pushes a cart to their van,
teenagers hold hands in the food court,
parents juggle toddlers and canvas bags.

XXVIII. gong show, n.

Stare at my left eye in one of
the few remaining mirror fragments.

Stare at the stained porcelain,
small red islands in a vast white sea.

My phone against my ear,
my moms's voicemail beeps.

XXIX. patronomatology, n.

We're family.
Sure, she changed her name
after the divorce,

but names are just words.
I'm still her kid. She raised me.
She has to call back.

XXX. sometimey, adj.

It's been two days.

She has posted on Facebook four times.
She wrote about seeing Twisters
with her boyfriend.

She hasn't called me back.

XXXI. poddy dodger, n.

You're on your own.
You've always known.

People say they care.
They tell you to reach out.

They will never call you back.
You don't deserve their help.

You deserve to be alone.
You deserve to hurt.