I gave my mother a radio her death
gave back, tuned to the breath of no one station.
I dragged a needle across the horizon.
Somewhere a voice. To take the breath away.
If you listen, you can hear it: the news
in the song in the still more distant news.
I gave my radio a death and yet
the music stayed behind. Its voice my voice.
The tune it carried carried me, its child,
from car to bed to a dream I belong
to a different family. Older, stranger.
A music that dies in order to be music.
The moan of the train carries best
at night, when all our hinges start to sing.
I light a Jahrzeit candle on the mantel.
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