I hear my mother smiling over the phone.
I feel between the lines of her e-mail
To sense her firm hands as they once soothed
My aching stomach on those cold February
Days of my childhood in Sacramento.
One day, I may see her eyes crinkle in LCD
Laughter, live on the camera fastened
To my computer; the transmission of her face
Once again fooling me into believing
That she is with me wherever I am
Even as that scintilla in my brain, born
In childhood, refuses to see her as anything
But a woman of 35 years reaching through time
And space to be as close to me as ever.
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