broken wings

I remember

calling my mother

from my grandmother’s landline

 

it was one of those old landlines

with the spiral cord

that prevented you from leaving the kitchen

I loved that phone

it made me feel vintage

walking in circles

twisting the cord around my finger

 

I remember

watching my grandmother make phone calls

how she would hover by the phone

after dialing

forgetting the phone cord extended

or sit at one of the chairs at the kitchen table

gabbing on and on

learning the family gossip

 

she lived vicariously through her horseback riding sister

learned my cousin broke his leg twice in one year

planned a family reunion

that cord and dial pad her extension to the outside world 

 

until finally

she got a cordless landline

 

I watched my grandmother make a phone calls

with her cordless landline

 

but

it is as if she is still somehow connected to the cord

tied up in the kitchen

never leaving the perimeter

 

like fireflies

trapped in a jar

who have forgotten

what it feels like

 

to fly

 

even after you unscrewed the lid

and set them free

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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