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Memories of an Ibook
by Bridget Todd

Memories of an Ibook 
I wasn't thinking of my mother
When I destroyed my ibook
When the neighbor thumped the wall
Causing the notebook to fly from the shelf 
Jolting the desk
Launching the cold mug of cranberry tea into motion
Like some awful game of Mousetrap
I wasn't thinking about this woman
Who barely ever left home
Shuffling her way into the Apple store
With a slow creep 
I wasn't thinking of rough black hands
That scrubbed floors to pay rent
Fingering lacquered white plastic
Feeling the shifting weighty mass 
Of perfect rectangles of data
She had no use for
And how the lines in her forehead began to gather
As she spoke with twentysomethings 
in tight black t shirts 
and spiked bleached hair 
The way the words gathered at the back of her throat

And her tongue's journey
To the roof of her mouth
As she repeated the words slowly to herself
Bluetooth, Gigahertz, Logicboard
Wanting to understand
I wasn't thinking of her
Grinning -- smirking even
My daughter the writer
You ain’t heard of East Carolina? 
Well let me tell you ...
I wasn't thinking 
of how her words echoed through my mind 
on the Greyhound back to school
Suitcase heavy with my new ibook
And a stolen bottle of dad's best gin
I wasn't thinking of how her face would look
When I told her it was gone

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