Stories

Once upon a time, a story took root
In a young girl’s heart.
It was a simple one, full of daring
And adventure and fights worth fighting.
She could not know
When she first encountered the tale –
Young as she was –
Just how deep it would burrow into her soul.

But it did.

It dug deep enough to grow with her,
Deep enough to survive her metamorphosis
From girl to woman without surrendering
Its hold at the core of her being.

She ignored those who scoffed –
Those who could not see the value
Of such a story in a place as harsh
And unyielding as reality –

For the tale held her close
When she needed comfort.
It emboldened her
When she needed strength.

It preached kindness,
And so she strove for empathy.
It valued bravery,
And so she strove for courage
In all things.

Yes, it was easy to ignore
The naysayers –
Almost as easy as it was
To pity them.

For where were their own tales?
Where were the stories to fill the sails
Of their own dreams,
Pushing them forward
Through the tempestuous waters of life?

The Flower Man

Under neon lights and a haze-filled sky in which no astral light but the moon’s brilliance is strong enough to shine through – and even then only as an indistinct orb glimpsed through a thick veil – the flower man walks the streets. The city is well known to him; every alley, every chasm in the sidewalk, every half-starved palm tree eking out an existence on long-neglected roadway medians are comforting in their familiarity. Continue reading