My Stories

They come to me,
whether I am looking for them or not.
Stories always find me, especially
when I swear I have no time

to entertain strange mythologies.
I don’t have to set out the fancy dishes.
They eat well enough
from the things that nourish me, 

and do me the courtesy
of skimming off the poison
leaving their warmth in its place. 

They know how much I need them,
especially in spaces that press in so tightly
it seems like I barely have enough breath
to say, "Once upon a time." Still,

my stories will always find a way. Deep in my bones
I know the distance between them and me
is only as far as I allow it to be.

This poem was created in response to the prompt at Poems and Storytellers United, Weekly Scribblings #50, Down In My Bones. 

Where Virtue Lies

Don’t call yourself a friend to the flower when you try to kill its roots.

Liner notes for this Groove: This is my first attempt at an American Sentence. I'm pretty pleased with this attempt and might try another again soon. It was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings prompt, Words of an Unprecedented Year. I tried to tackle allyship, but it looks like a bit of virtue signaling crept in. 

Song Choice: Hound Dog by Big Momma Thornton