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"cold call" by J. R. Wilkerson


my sister calls too

early in the week, an

early hour unallotted

for pleasantries, especially

for those

a certain age

a flinching, momentarily before

i steel myself

i say



too muted

to be received, ghosted

in the background,

in between the pauses of

familiar voices,

familiar sounds:

the dog barking

the door slamming

clearly misplaced

clearly unheard, all at once i

am relieved and melancholy and

am suddenly reminded

of the true meaning

of nostalgia

J. R. Wilkerson is a resident of Northern Virginia by way of Lawrenceburg, Missouri


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