I am listening. I am here. I’m waiting for Theresa, Adam, Blake, the men in the caves, the twin baby boys, God, the Valley, the ravens who fall from roofs and the magpies who flap in perfect black and white geometric design. I don’t want their voices to fade away, to go to that creative purgatory where I’ve shelved all of the others.
I am listening for the others, too. They haven’t stopped talking, I’ve just stopped listening for them. And I want to listen for the new ones who have come, they’ve been really noisy lately, too. For the old ones who thought I abandoned them. I want to speak the words that I wanted to hear when I was hurting. I want to say them. I want boys and girls, growing up and all grown up, to be the children they were before doubt set up camp in their hearts. Before their mothers and fathers stopped being their heroes, before you and I started ignoring them for the sake of everything else. I am listening for them, too.
I have my head tilted up toward the sky. There are trees that go on forever. There living things in the living things. There are people who are no longer corporeal who nudge me in old buildings. They want me to listen to them, too. I’m listening. I’m going to stop talking, and simply listen. And then? Once they’ve told me everything? Once you’ve told me everything? I’m not going to shut up. Ever.