Sound Barrier poem.

SOUND BARRIER

I hear your voice on the phone
and it takes me down to south Alabama.
Deep rich tones echo ancestors who
mimicked Negro slaves.
Melodic interpretations
of an alien language they were forced
to make their own.
Our families owned their accents
and brought them
through raising children and
cooking cornbread.
Golden-brown rivers rolled
downward and stuck like molasses
to children's children..
Generational sounds blow random
pieces that search for ways
to repair my dissilient heart.
You cannot satisfy the longing at
my core.
Your familial utterances conform,
until we meet face to face.
And then I am lonely.
I want to be wrapped up
in a sepia throated comfort,
and loved by the dark mama
who started it all.

Janet Brice Parker, 2003