Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The voicemail arrived at midnight from a number I did not know,
And the voice on the recording was my own, but soft and low.
It said, don't take the morning train, and don't go near the bridge,
For the bridge beside the river will not be there again.
I laughed it off as prankster's work and slept without a care,
But the morning brought the headlines, and a warning in the air.
The bridge had cracked at dawn, and the morning train was stopped,
And the passengers were rescued while the shattered girders dropped.
I played the message backward, and I played it once again,
And I heard a second sentence, soft as falling rain.
It said, I'm calling from the future, and I've one more thing to say,
Don't answer when the phone rings on the seventh of next May.
Poet of Chilling Shivers · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
A message from your own voice, sent before the event it describes, is the seed of this poem. It saves the speaker once and then sets a second, quieter trap.
A voicemail arrives “from a number I did not know,” and “the voice on the recording was my own.” It warns, “don’t take the morning train,” for “the bridge beside the river will not be there again.” The speaker laughs it off, but “the bridge had cracked at dawn, and the morning train was stopped.”
Playing the message “backward,” the speaker hears a second sentence: “I’m calling from the future, and I’ve one more thing to say.” The warning is “Don’t answer when the phone rings on the seventh of next May.” The poem ends with the date.