Do you remember that summerI spent trying to catch your snort in a jar?That snort you’d bury under a cough every time.A boy breaking through the drywall of a man.I wrote twenty-six poems about you.I gave you a warehouse and turpentineon your cuffs and night air in your gaze.But you wore yellow baseball caps, socks with sandals.Minnesota stamped in cotton, the blockiest state.Remember that time I poured boiling waterinto your roommate’s soda-lime glass?Not a clean break. A web. Tiny cracks allthrough the body and it just fell apart in your hands.Anyway, I'm on a podcast now,did you know? They asked me why I built the AI tool. I said I saw a gap I wanted to bridge. Because students weren't watching the lectures. Retention. Engagement. The host asked if the burden ofresponsibility should fall on individuals and I said no it's structural, and the right model could fix it. And I was so earnest, you would’ve slapped yourleft knee, cracked that snort open,and called me a sap.When I was beachcombing in Aruba I found a rock shaped like a brain and it reminded me of you. I held itto my ear the way you’d hold a shell,expecting the wild heat of your heartbeatfrom that morning after. But there was only the aural tragedy of the tide —the same wave, crashing into my ankles, over and over. I could build another reason for you to orbit my desk. I could buy us another summer with the jar open. I’ll bring the rock.Put your ear to the other side. Listen—I learned things in the specific key of your voice and called it professional development.I rearranged an entire curriculum so you could walk past my door on Tuesdays. I was always makingsomething beautiful and useless,always pressing that rockto your side of the wall,wasn’t I?————————————–Marissa M. Zhu called us from Detroit, MI.voicemailpoems.org/submit/facebook.com/voicemailpoemsx.com/voicemailpoemsbsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.socialinstagram.com/voicemailpoems