The way I sound now

My sister asked yesterday:

did you change how you talk?

I hadn't noticed the theft,

how slowly it occurs—

the rounded edges gone,

the vowels flattened out,

the slight rise at the end of sentences

smoothed into a line.

Then I heard myself on a recording

from work

and I didn't recognize

the shape of my own mouth.

This voice sounded like

someone trying not to take up space,

someone born in a waiting room,

someone with no place

to point back to.

When did I swallow myself?

Not all at once.

Bit by bit,

shaving down the rough places,

filing away the things

that made me sound

like I came from somewhere.

My sister said,

it's not bad,

just different.

But different is the word

people use

when they mean

you've disappeared.