Story in Hiding
I am a story in hiding.
A mutated myth on an epic scale
Crammed into tiny lyrical lines,
Waiting for my victory
Over this kingdom of poetry
The day will soon come
When words may be words,
As blunt and brief and
Non-descriptive as possible
Words may become
Paragraphs
With punctuation
And plotlines
And people
Who are described not by the
Color of their skin-hair-eyes-fingernails
But by the contents of their car
Pockets
Closet
Backpack
The people
Will be long-winded,
Mumbling, stuttering, pausing to think
Not smooth and suave and sleek
To fit the purpose of the poem
But free to ramble for pages, and ages
– It’s their world, don’t stop them –
They will have the space
To speak to us of Great Aunt Lucy’s second cousin’s sister’s husband’s third child’s son
And we will never try to stop them.
Go on, words, people, be free!
Paint the town any color you want.
Kerri Zuiker – October, 2007.