I listened
To her stories of my absent father.
I listened in between words
as the tales changed over time.
They were not to be trusted.
Music filled the space where father should have been. Those sounds became his story within me -
A history mine alone.
Behind the notes lingered a trace of truth.
I listened.
I actively listened
To the sounds and what lay beyond
And from them I wove my own yarn.
My then furry friend was witness
And stored away those tales of a thousand and more nights. He remembers now more than I.
His listening skills are nonpareil,
But he never sings,
So only through me do the stories live on.
Julian G., 2021