You have become the shape of your name.
Two syllables more familiar to me than your face—
You become the shape of each letter.
The curve of J that fits into my empty arms.
The o an open place your absence occupies.
We say it differently, your mother and I.
She, a rich vibration of sound;
I, a whispered second syllable. Sibilant s.
e that tucks into my womb, pressing against my heart.
The ph an exhale, a sigh, a longing.