Our Stories

Our stories are the skin covering our souls

Sometimes shrouded in secrecy

Other times cut to the bone

Marching to the tune of our drummer

Scattering raw pieces and parts

Or treading softly, laying down our hearts

Our stories contain wisdom, they contain sin

They leak out the edges, they confine within

We look out to see, beyond the horizon

The binding that holds the pages, lest they tear

We carry our fear

We pass our stories round and round

We leave our thumbprint on the page

The stories change, they yellow with age

We re-read them, and they become the same

They turn to ash, they turn to dust

They bleed, they cry, they saturate the earth

Kingdom’s reign, some find fame

Our stories recur again and again

What goes on beyond, not to be seen

Our stories remain, done and undone

Who is to blame?

—Allison Shapiro