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