We’d listen in the kitchen to the voices
In the dining room. We’d lean against
The door and press our ears to hear the sounds
Of parents fighting, shouting at each other
Like soldiers in a war, like mighty trees
Collapsing, falling to the ground. –– I keep
This moment with me. Yes, I treasure it
More than a well-worn photograph, because
It is who we are, more than a picture
Could ever be. It says: family.
You who understand my words can add
Another stanza here. Write about
Those memories, those treasures, kept so deep
Within your own life that they ache when you
Awake and burn a hole within your soul.
Write them down, remembering how you’d listen.