My mother is
a distant voice
that travels across the blue
through a thin electric wire
and gently scratches my stomach.
My mother is
phrases
that I swallow
word by word
letter by letter
savoring the punctuations in between,
So far away,
on the other end of the thin line
made of broken sounds,
my mother is
music.
—
Palo Alto
October 15, 2002
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