Foreign Language
by Heather K. Robinson

You write I love you
in images: a crying eye,
shaded heart
and arrowed u
on my grocery list.

It’s the arrow that pulls
my attention, points
to crackers and tuna,
so I think I can’t forget
to bring them home;
they must be important.

You never read
the reminder words or paragraphs
I leave you
while you sleep,
so you never know
what to bring,
what to take.

There are many fights
about what’s forgotten,
what we’ve lost,
what’s not said,
the pain, and time
it takes to speak.

The excuses: our brains
function differently.
Too tired from work
or the pain of
labored hands keep
us from listening,
from paying attention
to details.

We are lost,
in images and words
we can’t hear or understand.

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