Thursday, June 30, 2011
Day 303
11:21 pm
–
hands in pockets
–
If it is dust,
my palms will clear the dust
If it is sand,
my skin will rake the sand
There are pockets
in this earth
hiding bits of
history that sit
in waiting for
the children to
grow their curiosity
If it is water,
my feet will part the water
If it is mud,
my knees will wade through mud
Pieces and parcels
of stories that
sit at the
edge of chairs
with weak hands
resting on their
knees, wrinkled smiles,
eyes that can
barely be seen
If it is slate,
my back will break the slate
If it is a boulder,
my chest will tip the boulder
We hear their
stories peep their
foreheads above the
top, over the
back of our
heads, tilting our
chins up because
we swear we
just heard them
If it is the sun,
my throat will house the sun
If it is a star,
my belly will capture the star
Through our cough,
our wrists laced
at the back
of our backs,
our laugh, our
gait, we catch
flashes of them
in the reflection
we catch in
windows we pass
If it is thunder,
my memory will carry the thunder
If it is wind,
my dreams will sail with the wind
Their voices wait
for us to
find them, ready
with our gadgets
and rusty tools,
until they can
wait no longer
and they vanish
as stories do
sometimes vanish if
we never go
to seek them
stories do disappear
–
–
tkk
–
–
