My words.
They come out cracked and tinny, 
artifacts of the exchange between the distant relays of my alternate reality&
yours

My phone bill is going to be outrageous.

I am placing this call from a place that doesn’t exist for you
My husband is dead here. 
(It’s the only difference I can find.)
I’ve acclimated, some. Assimilated, but 
I don’t speak our language anymore. 
We never had a word for this.
The closest ones I can find here, too heavy,
too precious 
are improbable to collect.