skyping our parents on a 3g dongle
is like talking to astronauts
on an international space station

it’s night there and they’re both at the ready
dad, first commander, moonfaced in lampglow
mum, upright, underlit, captain

their faces ghost the screen
pixels swim and ribbon, rebuild on stationary things
bookshelves, telescope, a pinned orbit of photos

in that room on the other side of the planet
while we breath in the delay, the visual static
all else floats with reunion