Lobster heirloom

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  The lobster speaks

  with the voice of my mother.

  She’s cold, at first,

  but slowly, she warms,

  as I hold her

  to my ear. We speak

  for a while

  of nothing except life.

  Her tail cups my chin

  and her legs hug my skull,

  and true to familial form

  I find myself unable

  to end the call.