Voices on the Wind Voices from Home
Long Distance by Kathryn Jacobs Life thins along the edges, bleeding out through permeable borders Which just means I'm missing you; please email. At the edge I feel like an amoeba, groping. There's a man mislaid somewhere, I reach out (poke?) until the cold and empty sucks at me and I retract and clutch what matters here: a job, a check, diploma. I contract. Because you've got to play it safe, they say. I feel gelatinous like jelly-worms when I'm so very hungry. And I know you've got to be here somewhere (stretch, expand) but I can't find you