at age five, nobody should have to listen to the desperate screeches of disappointment made by the two people who should love each other.
i sat at that old, round wooden table across from my sister.
our eyes wide with fear.
we could practically smell their anger radiating off from their bodies.
their words were poisonous spit that was being flung at each other.
i don't remember exactly how that fight ended, but i did know that the relationship between my mother and father was beyond dead.
and because they did not listen well to each other, i am now a listener.
i have always hated hearing those "see-you-soons" because i never knew how soon my father actually meant.
he told me he loved christmas eve, but that was the last time i've seen him.
nine months and seventeen days from today.
my father loves history, that was his favorite subject growing up.
i listened to his favorite stories - the boston tea party is the one he liked the most - and he would always tell me fun facts.
in his old, gray jeep cherokee we listened to the beatles on road trips.
but those memories were long ago and it's time to start focusing on what is important to me.
my friend one time asked me if i were a good listener.
to which i diligently replied yes.
she happily, yet slowly spilled all of her deepest insecurities onto me.
one piling up onto the other, like a heavy lump of snow.
the snow weighing down onto me, and seeping inside through me.
as she kept pouring those words of hers, i realised all of my inner secrets i have and that i too need a voice to listen.
the lake - a wonderful place i like to call my second home - feels magical as i am rewarded with it each summer.
it's owned by a family friend and they kindly invite us whenever we're free.
the kitchen is filled with hallucinating smells of zesty soups to grilled-to-perfection cheeseburgers.
my sister and i swim in the clear and warm water.
the boat rides are soothing as i hear in on their stories.
but when the day turns to night i can't help but listen to those chirping crickets and the sound of beautiful laughter and the crackling of the dying bonfire, and think i am at peace.
my sister worries a lot.
And i worry about her.
she tells me often of what stresses her and what puts her on edge.
i listen to what she says and she tells me a lot of things.
what's been on her wild and bright and big mind.
how her day went.
and she tells me i'm a great listener.
i tell her "thank you, i know."
--
hello. i know i haven't been on in a while, and i don't even know how many of you are reading my poems at this point. but this poem was a narrative i wrote for my english class, and the goal of the assignment was to designate yourself with a describing word and write why you think you are this.
i chose listener.
all the best love
jessie lee
