One side is you, the other’s me, recorded
After I’d moved away when we were young.
At odds, we clung. We couldn’t have afforded
To lose each other, we were both so strung
On complementary hurt: my ulcered tongue,
Your guttural self-doubt. These days I’d say
To us: Let go. Before long we’ll be flung
Beyond the range our voices have today.

But what’s the use? I couldn’t say it then,
And I’ve survived, while you, by choice, have not.
Your words, straining as if to free your thought
At last, replay inside my heart again,
In starts and stutters that I wouldn’t hear
If what became of distance were not near.

Photograph by Mayte Wisniewski

This poem was shortlisted for the Rhina Espaillat Poetry Award in 2021. Find out more details and how to enter your poems .