<u>Lobster heirloom</u>


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    The lobster speaks


    with the voice of my mother.


    She’s cold, at first,


    but slowly, she warms,


    as I hold her


    to my ear. We speak


    for a while


    of nothing except life.


    Her tail cups my chin


    and her legs hug my skull,


    and true to familial form


    I find myself unable


    to end the call.