A storyteller

“A man can stand anything, except
a succession of ordinary days,” says Goethe
You altered the way I see
and even the way I feel
You ride the arrow
Of time and nudge your neighbor
To follow a voice you are following
Not the herd
But a voice from another mountain
A struggle to climb
The sweat and the joy
How to tell a story, a generous
Telling from your grandfather
You hear a Park Ranger and tell it well
One can be born twice
And be a storyteller.

Yesterday, the grill

Today the ashes from last night’s grilling
Of eggplant, chicken, and asparagus
Today is the gathering of heard stories from yesterday
Like remains of a town buried by rising ocean tide
I’m collecting them in a brown bag
They are read and being written.

I’ll try not to drop any portion on the ground
It’s not edible but may pollute the air
Shall I read it loud while gathering
Maybe the scattering will nudge late sleepers to rise,
Their existence acknowledge?

Both are bound to certain collections
A place for nourishment, for strangers.
I’m fascinated by possibilities,
They are concrete numbers, abstract in the mind.
They are bells to arouse a village
They create a sound, tuneless to melodious tune
How to find the thread through the eye of a needle.