I think of mom’s face
Turned towards her screen, in awareness mode.
Her mouth gaping, her stubby eyebrows
Growing taller
And the lines on her face
Printing away at my eyes.
Every loudness
All the images that blur past
And the sentences that announce a loss for words:
They sculpt away at mom’s face
And they tickle gasps and horrors
Out of her mouth.   
The front pages of all the news,
Every single feature is written out in bold ink.
And I, over there, sit on the couch,
An unsharpened pencil at hand,
I sketch and sketch away,
Pressing until the paper breaks,
>Drilling mom’s voice out of my hands.