QUESTION 2 The call 1 The sound of the phone from my flatmate's room catches me on the landing halfway down the stairs, my palm on the handle not enough to still the impetus of the suitcase. a bruise on my thigh to stop it From the box of things to give away -signs I was once here- I grab my phone, plug it in the passage, and sit On the stack of phonebooks against the wall. Hallo, Mama, I answer. I am leaving for a new place, Each further from where I started. Across the seven-hour time difference I fear I will never see her again. I want to say out loud I am losing a centre to which I can return, But do not. She speaks too in a way flattened. 15 5 10
