How sweet it is <br />Listening to my wife <br />Talking on the phone with <br />Our daughter <br />Bubbles of laughter <br />“Really? ” she says— <br />To what I wonder. <br /> <br />It is a joy to me, <br />A man who cannot communicate well <br />After a life of communicating always <br />In the work I did, <br />After a life <br />Among men who <br />Tell each other <br />How the world should run, <br />Who should be allowed to do what <br />To his body <br />Or hers, <br />Who should be able to shoot whom <br />When, <br />And how, <br />The voices incessant, <br />A cacophony of ideas <br />Claiming the future is ours <br />When it is their own <br />They seem to proclaim most earnestly. <br /> <br />Earlier she talked with our <br />Youngest daughter, <br />Spoke of jobs and apartments <br />And friends <br />And the little things in life <br />That call you back to <br />Yesterday’s youth. <br /> <br />It is the sound of women’s voices <br />That makes the world seem right, <br />Hearing only one end of the <br />Conversation <br />While my inner ear hears both, <br />Stirs up in me a smile, <br />Warms me. <br /> <br />A mother talking to her daughters. <br />A daughter talking to her mother. <br />What better food is there <br />To feed the soul. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />February 1,2004 (rev.10/7/09)<br /><br />Bob Bowers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conversations-12/
