There is a voice on the other end,
more masculine than you remember,
less warm in its intonations,
and far more formal than when you and her
would giggle warmly in bed about
the native Iowans and their love
for rhubarb pie and good soil.

Weeks later, standing outside
in a cold Eastern wind
that smelled of good Midwestern soil
and the tangy cool of rhubarb,
the thought occurred that perhaps
her voice was no different.
It was simply your ears that had changed.