I know you won’t respond to this, but

what does it feel like in your throat

for all ten seconds

you sustain that E♭5? I was among

the 23,500 people screaming in the concert

stadium like a gaping mouth. Did you know

when you gain weight, your tongue

also gets fat? My husband says

you need to stop cutting the sleeves

off your jackets no matter how hot

you get on stage. It’s weird when a man

talks about another man

getting chunky, isn’t it? A girl in high school

choir told me singing should feel

open in the throat like a yawn. I saw

the cellphone vids from your younger days

getting high on stage and showing off

how deep the microphone could go.

If I learned anything, it’s that I’ve always

been doing it all wrong. My college boyfriend’s

mother was an Italian opera singer. Once,

I trained my highest range

so long I couldn’t speak

at regular pitch. She said

the voice is not an elevator; you can’t ride it

up all day and expect to get back down.

That boyfriend left me

for a girl he had a crush on, not prettier

than me, but she could really sing. Not like

you. But enough. Now I’m middle-aged,

I’ve got a bullfrog neck; it’s not

a double chin but like my throat is always

bloated, and I never properly exhale

or maybe it would be good for singing and

I’d be good for something. I looked up

whether frogs can yawn. It turns out

they do something that looks like yawning,

but in fact, they’re eating their own skin. I’ll never

be a rock star. Trust me, your fans

don’t care about your arms. If I could

swap bodies with one person in the world,

I would have yours. I just need it

long enough to open my mouth

and pass that one high note

through my throat, I mean, your

throat. I know you won’t

respond to this because that one time

you said if your fans want you to answer,

they should ask more interesting questions.

But I want to know what it feels like.

I don’t even have to be on stage

to feel it. We can do the body

swap in the shower. When

can we meet up?