the phone
on your mother's kitchen
wall.
a black box
with a numbered wheel
to hook
your fingers in,
the licorice tangled
line
that reached
the basement stairs,
stretching on
forever. it
held whispered
voices in
thin wire
where you told
Julie, the love
of your short life
how much you
really cared
how you hoped that this
weekend
she wouldn't be
so shy,
so scared.
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