I remember echoically.
Hold syllables. Yours then mine. I mine
What I heard. I herd the blend of hurts.
You claim to retain each page you’ve seen,
and cleverly play down this ability, say
it has passed for brilliance by those
authorized to know. You are accustomed
to being believed. And fail to listen in favor of
declaring. People routinely let this go.
At the table stories interrupted by someone
arriving to pour water routinely die. You do not ask
the speaker to restart the conversation. You fail to notice.
Move on and forget what has been said. Tell me:
is it difficult ignoring those you claim to love most as if country
cousins unlikely to advance your career?
.
Sheila E. Murphy
.
Great poem 🙂❤️👍
Comment by Malcolm Paul on 4 February, 2025 at 7:20 am