The only truth, ever

At times I learn

no truth for whole days

until my boy insists

that I listen. 

Floating, sinking and

floating again

in his sound, his voice

the stories invade,

heroes in conflict,

dramatic dialogues,

no pauses:

bit rather

action and action.

I listen.

I float 

in his voice,

repetitive, 

so excited,

dense in detail.

My heart slows,

dances in little 

somersaults

amongst clouds. 

Only then do I

release tiny sighs,

open my fists,

smooth the frown

stare at his moving lips:

Only then do I

see.

How real we are

in the stories we tell

no matter the fiction

from which they spring.

No longer the quizzer,

the teacher, 

the disciplinarian.

I am the listener

the only truth

I need to remember, 

ever.