My Worlds

I wish I was a wave, same body always repeating. I wish I was a better daughter, always calling, always crossing the same waters with my family. Instead, I'm that curious vessel out at sea and my parents stand on the shore, shielding their peripherals so to see me better. Is that her? they might wonder. They paw for binoculars at their chest but there are no binoculars because I never gifted them.

This is not for a lack of love or care. I love and care deeply for my parents. I am the one daughter left. They go about living their lives pinching pierogies, hunting, selling auto parts, sitting on their porch and talking. They wait for me to call and a lot of times I don't, so they call me. I do not want to explain my mind's ways, it's out-of-sight, out-of-mind tendencies. They are in mind but I'm more likely to write a love note than make a call. I send texts but that's not their language. My mom texts in GIFs and saccharine sentiments. My dad responds days later and still signs things dad which I love.

My parents just called me, together, saying that they loved my homemade Italian marinara sauce. My dad waxed poetic about its taste and my mom asked how everything is going with your problem. I speak in ellipses about possible focal seizures as they talk over me, worried that I never go to the doctor. I have to talk over them in starts and stops to say a whole sentence. Maybe I talk over people too. And for that, I'm sorry. Despite the miles between us and my lack of word, my parents are in me, my worlds.