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November 27, 2023
"Mes de los Muertos"

When I hear my uncle's voice on the telephone

By Abigail George

My uncle's voice is
a sheet of glass.
He means to renovate
my soul. When
he speaks I drift away.
He believes
in gardening at night.
He's always lived
in the city. His beautiful wife died of breast cancer.
I couldn't cope
when I heard the news.
So I wrote this poem
instead. They had three sons.
Too successful.

Article © Abigail George. All rights reserved.
Published on 2016-11-28
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski. All rights reserved.
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