Her talk floats, changes course
like blown soap bubbles. Then—
gone. Someone else’s
laughter comes near, draws hers.
She drifts
toward whoever is taking
her pulse, lifting her spoon,
doesn’t hear me
calling
into the receiver.
I stand in my kitchen, phone to ear,
listening
to the room she’s in
Jennifer Freed writes mostly poems. Her mother survived a cerebral hemorrhage two years ago. Learn more at jfreed.weebly.com.
Gorgeous work, Jennifer. Bravo.
Thank you!
Jennifer, you see the world through a different lens. Thanks for sharing your view with us.
Thank you Alex.
So well done!
Thank you!