So this is the distance it takes between
family to keep us connected. On a screen
at each end of ten thousand miles,
two thumb-sized windows blink awake
and there we are, faces lurching into smiles.
Laughing, we shout each other’s names,
watch our own hands wave, and make
crazy faces. Our images slide into the places
where our bodies move; voices hiss
with digital static. I’m like an astronaut,
too far removed, too in-survival-mode to miss
anyone not in front of me. I caught
a glimpse, behind my sister’s head,
of hands-in-pocket torsos: my brothers-in-law
and little brother, waiting their turn. I’ve never said
I wish I was there with you on the phone
before, but seeing them pulled me across:
That’s right where I’d be standing now.
The space we keep for love that feels like loss,
the distance that it takes to have a home.
Kevin Klein is an elementary teacher and writer from Orem, Utah. He’s published a picture book with Covenant Communications about the First Vision and LDS-themed poetry in Irreantum, Dialogue, and BYU Studies. His wife and two teenage kids are, among other things, his favorite sources of inspiration and feedback. This poem was previously published in a long-vanished magazine.
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