Wrong Number

I wonder if this happens to remind me it can happen

This is a poem that was rejected as part of a manuscript.

Wrong Number

For a year, I have received voicemails from a wrong number.
Every now and then I get a frantic message asking
for Stephen to please call him back, to tell him what he did

to make him mad enough to lose contact.
I picked up once, to tell him his middle-aged brother
wasn't here, and he didn't believe me.

Once, he left a message to say he was going to court
and hoped I would be there. Part of me wondered
if I should show up, not brother-me but young girl-me,

if I should be there for this person I know
nothing about except we are both waiting for something
to speak back. Every time he calls from a new number, I block it.

I've considered giving up the number I've had for years,
how I know this isn't a case of changed ownership.
I haven't told anyone what is happening because

I know they will say it is cruelty, to let a stranger bury
his voice into the chest of my answering machine,
knowing mine is the only heart beating inside it.

But I wonder if this happens to remind me
it can happen, that somewhere there is someone so sure
they can reach me, they will call anyone by my name.