I told you once to forget the words I say,
and I told you twice to remember that.
You told me you never listen anyway.
Most of the time my thoughts are on display,
written on my face, shallow and flat.
I told you to forget the words I say.
And then I asked you, “Parlez-vous Français?”
to find the difference between chien and chat.
You told me your French is rusty anyway.
So then I tried some Spanish andale!
But you never studied the other Lat-
in tongue—just forget the words I say.
Our languages never can convey
meaning beyond one little caveat—
you weren’t even listening anyway.
I love and hate you. I listen. I pray.
The words didn’t stir you; you still sat.
I told you to forget the words I say.
You told me you never listen anyway.
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I had always wanted to write a villanelle, so I tried one in the Fall of 2004 while I was a part of a poetry writing group. I had tried one a few years earlier with much less success.
I wrote one; It was almost as anxiety building as it was cathartic. I love them, and I will not stop trying to write another one…maybe when Saoirse graduates…then I’ll be in my 50s. 😀