Selective Hearing

This is another poem I wrote during the month-long writing experience. I just love looking back and experiencing through the words and feel of the poem, what I was feeling the moment I wrote it.


“Selective Hearing"

I heard him say, “It’s a jungle out there”
and I’d smile and look for monkeys swinging in the trees
long arms reaching for the next grasp of hope to propel
them forward. But I didn’t know what he meant.

I heard her say, “Look before you leap”
but I must admit I closed my eyes before
I jumped off the swing momentarily flying like a kite
before realizing I was a rock. And I didn’t know what she meant.

I heard him say, “I love you”
and I flat-lined right there, suddenly speechless
and appalled that I’d never known life before that moment
and I breathed. But I didn’t know what he meant.

I heard them say, “Your life goes by quickly”
but it felt like I was a seed that had just been planted
and I was watching myself grow with stunted petals
that wouldn’t respond to the sun. And I didn’t know what they meant.

I heard myself say, “For better or for worse”
and I visualized poverty and tears from both of us
and laughing nights and dancing days and even
the silence that penetrated our lives. But I didn’t know what I meant.

I heard him say, “I hate you”
but knew it couldn’t be the case for we’d never
met before that day when anger appeared before my
eyes, blue tongue lapping. And I didn’t know what he meant.

I heard her say, “I’m glad he died”
and my heart just disappeared encased in silent
throaty tears that slid across the notion I had that she
was really kind. But I didn’t know what she meant.

I heard them say, “Time heals wounds”
but I’d spent some time with time and he healed nothing;
no respecter of my grief, he only wrapped my loneliness with
a bow and delivered it unannounced. And I didn’t know what they meant.

I heard myself say, “It’s time to move on”
and I gathered up the memories, like books in a library,
categorized and numbered, some worn, some sparkling but I couldn’t
leave them there alone and trembling, orphaned. “They are a part of me”
the words spoke aloud hesitantly. But I knew what they meant.