I Carry Your Story With Me

It erupts in a brand new story

I do not resist the call of story, to inhale its magic deep into my belly,
To clutch it in my grubby hand already full of story, but eager for more.

I am not picky about the stories I pick— every person has a story
That only they can tell and I am that receptive wandering child delighted
By rampant, rollicking words enticing me to places I have never been,
Inviting me to join new friends and share my own stories as tribute
To the ones that came before me and walked alongside me
As I wandered fields of home, city sidewalks, and climbed mountains.

No longer a child, I carry a vast array of stories with me wherever I go,
Choosing which ones I play with in ever-changing palette,
Twining and adding, dropping and picking up what works right now.
Always, always, I delight in forgotten pleasures, grinning with joy
At what happens now with familiar summoned to new angles and jolts
Of unexpected magic that makes me laugh and play some more.

I invite new stories to join me every day, seeking them out
As well as inviting new ones to come along with me
In painting words on page, laying sparkly bright in new ways
For my own glee and for others to enjoy if they wish.
I force no reader to join me for love, money, anything more
Than answering the call of story to our hearts, our minds, our lives.

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