conversation with a child my little buddhas listen so attentively, it makes me feel like watching my words, and i do they look different suddenly, because they're being heard they look bolder, with one meaning, indisputable and understood by all my little buddhas talk less self consciously, about that one time, when they did something and they felt something and then, and then--they start a new story altogether but they're related, everything's related, they tell me everything makes sense--they just don't know how yet i can see where their thoughts sit in their heads, the haphazard way they're shoved together--but confidently, a beautifully intricate mess what i know, what i thought i knew seems organized and dull, unbearable to study and for all my talk of love, for all the broken hearts and broken friendships neatly folded in my baggage, what i know, what i truly know, is this-- it's a miracle to listen and be listened to |