The Stranger on the Line

I’m scrolling through the cloud

to make room for photos I won't look at later.

A video from five years ago starts to play—

I'm showing the lens how to mince garlic.

The air conditioner in that apartment

hisses like a punctured lung in the background.

Then a voice starts talking, thin and high,

vibrating in the nose like a cheap radio.

I don't remember being that person

or ever sounding that small.