Are you there?

I don’t know what to make of you. That is the truth. I don’t have any clean stories. 

My mother told me that she cut off her hair as a girl, all tied up in a neat little ponytail, and tucked it away. My graying mother told me that she unearthed it while cleaning out her childhood home when I was seven and my grandfather was in assisted living, and it retained its golden-chestnut hue.

She says when she pressed it to mine the colors matched.

I miss you.

Did you see a woman when you looked at me? Did you want to see a woman when you looked at me?

I know you are not as happy as I pretend you are.

I imagine you must be lonely.

I know that’s not the whole truth.

I know it is exhausting to never be in a room with someone who understands everything about you. It will not ever happen.

I guess I never can know. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. I guess I always will.

linoleum relief and letterpress on florist tissue paper, 4”x4” pages