Life, Stories and Poems
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Ring tone


I was looking for somebody´s number in my phone today,
and I found yours.

I was in a hurry,
rushing through the list I wished to complete by the end of the day,
and there you were.

In black and white on the screen.

The letters of your name ringing out,
as if you were still there.

A name in my list of contacts.
A cell phone number not dialled for some time,
staring at me as if the signs and numbers themselves
were eyes,
had a presence.

What would happen if I called you?

If I let my fingers slide across the touch-screen,
swipe the call – icon to dial your number?

Would there be a ring-tone?

And, if there were,
how many?

Would there be a click before the voicemail automatically switched on,
at the end of that last ring-tone?

Or would that last one end in silence?

If you could pick up, what would you say?

Would you tell me where you are?
How you are doing?
What you are doing?

Would your voice sound close,
or distant?

Would we talk about the good old times,
the friends we shared,
the village,
the snow,
the new boards of the season?

Would we laugh about what never changed,
or to be more specific ;about the old living legends whom would never change?

Would we decide to meet up the mountain,
or down in the village
with the whole crew?

Would we reminisce of powder days,
of flatlight,
of people held close in our hearts whether there or not there that very season,
of me working for Burton eventually,
of that proving you were right ?

Would you laugh?

Would you let us know,
where you are headed after this,
where we can see you again ?

You see,
I am not the only one
with your number still in my phone,
I am sure.

I am not the only one
whose days lit up
with that smile of yours,
whether it was telling stories
or taking the piss.

I am not the only one
wishing I could just call
those whom departed too early.


Cecilia Götherström, Feb 8th 2016

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