» Poetry

Analog

Last October my mother clipped out
an article from the New York Times

about why millennials love plants and
I mocked her for the old-fashion. She

sent me a letter every week in the
month of June, although I had since

left the city, because I didn’t
pick up the phone. My mother

writes things on paper that she
would never say out loud. Her

letters read like the Book of Proverbs
and she always doodles on

the envelope. She says things like No I wouldn’t
take care of your cats but if you have babies

then give them to me. I grow older and further
from her portrait of my future

life lived. Too far to see
the disappointment crinkle

on her eye corners. Close
enough to hear a sigh over radio waves.