Zoe Cummins

Surely they cannot be found again and heard in resolution.

My sister says they can be heard again, or still.

The earth rotates like a record player.

Radio waves ricochet off satellites.

Greensleeves on the radio, beamed out and back again.

Bouncing off the metal of my mother's mouth.

Spirit voices or decaying sounds.

Who knows the truth?

I'm in bed with my laptop on my knee.

I read how telegraphers were required to hold silence for three minutes at 15 and 45 of the hour.

The ships out at sea with the weakest signal were then able to cut through with a distress signal.

I read about Anna Nevins in the Ward of Astoria telegraphic station in 1909, who used to send coded messages to her lover on the steamship Oceana, a thousand miles away.

I think of you on a ship far away.

It's far more romantic than the thought of you in your hotel.

Away on business again.

Eating room service again.

Tired from, tired from, tired... Most of my radio work these days is in podcasting.

My latest series is a science one on microorganisms.

Mycology.

It becomes pretty clear very quickly that I could become a fungi freak.