Hello?

Dropped off in an industrial epicenter, she held out pieces of lined paper. 

“Hello…” 

The only word she could utter to garner attention from passerby Americans. 

Eventually she lost herself in a residential culdesac, phoning her brother in law for a rescue. 

Her 20’s had been a mad dash towards opportunity, in a land where that promise was kept only for a few.

Highlighting numbers with her index finger, a phone book for businesses became her bible. 

“Hello…”

A Chinese eatery opened their arms only to reveal their true intentions to green card their son into the states. 

As she took the trash on the way out of a shitty business slanging carpets, she weaponized her Yellow Pages.

“Hello…”

Eventually, because the universe bestowed upon her a stereotypical affection for math, it lead her to an opportunity to crunch numbers as a book keeper for a roofers trust fund.

Anonymous calls I receive today I imagine are this woman, 10 years younger than I am now, dialing so far into the future, clutching for a connection .  

“Hello?”

“Hi mom.”

Amy is an artist. In another life, she’d paint.