Maturation: A Poem

Preface: I'm heartbroken in Seattle, looking through my computer. I found this poem I wrote in April but never posted. Somehow the state I'm currently in encourages me to post it now. Forgive me my melodrama. 

Words I once heard,

I had not experienced,

So failed to understand:

“The surest sign of maturation

is the transition

from monologue to dialogue.”

I thought,

‘I’ve been talking with people all my life:

philosophizing, commiserating, dreaming,

planning, reminiscing, and comparing our belly aches.’

And yet I always knew 

there was some aspect

of maturation

that I was still missing.

And then I met her for whom this 

(and perhaps one other poem)

was written.

And I looked her in the eyes

And she would not meet my eyes

And she would talk and talk

And talk and talk and talk

And some of her points were points I could distinctly remember having felt

And having believed

And having discoursed boldly on even not too long ago.

But she would not meet my eyes,

But she would not hear my response,

But she would not seek out my soul

anymore than her bodily desire required 

And it was then that I knew

the difference between a monologue

and a dialogue,

And I wondered,

How often have I been guilty of

such brutal transgressions 

against human communication?

So sacred:

the binding substance of society

nee God. 

4/7/2012 4:30 pm

The Laughing Goat

Boulder, CO