There are many people with stories
yet only a few who can tell them.
Not all nuts that fall to the ground
become old trees.
I have walked the middle of city sidewalks
on the edge of the holy.
Others quote passages from ancient texts
to be acceptable and perfect.
Begin with the entrance of your family story
or, perhaps, with the origin of giving thanks.
Has the world changed that much?
Can all be included in circles of trust
covenanting to agree on the use of the public?
What does it mean to place your personal
history into a larger narrative that includes
the Pequot Massacre of 1637? Or any other
massacre or mauling, decreed or undecreed.
Ask, Who's hand holds the other's hand, today?
I said, "The balance in my checking
account has reached a new high."
She replied, "Remember: narratives
of aggregates always serve wealth."
I agreed. "I am aware of the different
storylines used by the storytellers."
She added, "And the layers of power,
hidden from most, continue to pull
the children from their families."
I asked, "What is the history in my
particular landscape that tells where
I am today?"
She answered, "You were the minority
when you arrived and, luckily, it turned
out fine for you."
Ham radio conversations have morphed
the story into internet bulletin boards
where the temperature of ice in Iceland
can be shared in real time with the beachgoer
building sand castles in the Keys.
Storytellers of the past share their best
as any faith demanding this much explanation
to a foolish person needs to be withdrawn
from the public realm before too many
heads are lost to the people erasers.
Friends join and then withdraw membership
taking all learning to bed by making white
papers on topics esoterically rich while
overlooking the reservoirs of luck and the stories
written to blindly believe without thought.
On gorgeous days when rain bubbles
the pond surface and no one bothers
to show up for prayer time even the turtles
descend into their holes to avoid discovering
the difficult way of sharing a story of peace.