I will Listen

“If they don’t hear you, say it again.

If they don’t hear you, again, a third time.”

They didn’t hear me.

What language do you they speak?

It must linger in the nether zones;

Where stars hover adjacent to the sun,

Or heaven even, kitty corner within sight.

I feel hot breath from my mouth,

I hear a deep resonance from my chest,

My low voice is perhaps like the pluck of base,

And they only hear banjo picking voices?

It’s getting serious, I’m concerned.

“I said I’m bleeding heavily”

“drink more water” they told me.

That feels wrong?

I’m not a worrier, my mother is.

In contrast I never worry,

If they don’t hear you

You need to hear you,

You may need to be transfused

By days end.

You cannot make them hear you,

But you aren’t alone when you hear you,

I do trust this language that only I speak

I hear me,

I will listen.

 

Organically Grown

You were witness to my first kiss,
my first public appearance in court,
my first wrinkle

my first bad hangover,
you rode in my hideous joke of a car,
You held my first born,
when I planted my rose garden
You were there telling me
“shovel deeper,
and with your company, I discovered
black with richness, new soil,
beneath the sharp metal edge of my trowel.
Every year I added a new rose,
but never have they been as resistant to my harsh pruning,
never as immune to disease, never have their
blossoms been as as silky or fragrant,
as the one I planted with you