You were a story that my mother told me
You were a story I dreamed above you
You are a story that we all will tell
We have written you into our history
We have written our history onto you
Myths are being born in you
They have begun speaking for you
In my voice, in my mother's,
Among all of us
Even if you are a new myth,
Come and learn this language
Bone by syllable
You were a story that my mother told me
You are the future that watches us
You are the child I told
Thanks to Carrie at The Sunday Muse for this week's image. Also sharing with Poets United for Poetry Pantry #440. We've been approaching a few milestones in our extended family and I'm on a family story kick...seeing the above image makes me think of the ways we try to prepare for the familiar future, the one contained safely in all the stories we already know...the one that is constantly in tension with the story of tomorrow that we don't know. Hope everyone has an inspiring week and thanks for visiting!
-- Chrissa
Chrissa, I think this is my favourite of your poems. I love the whole idea of family stories, repeated and handed down. This is lovely.
ReplyDeleteI second what Sherry just said. This is truly a beautiful poem that wonderful captures the photo, and is a new favorite for me as well.
ReplyDeleteEGG SEE LENT Poem!
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderful.. the future we have in a child. If we could leave something better it would be great.
ReplyDeleteWonderful write, Chrissa. We do cherish our family stories.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous, artwork and poem.
ReplyDeleteThe love and humanity shine through these telling words Chrissa
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday. Thanks for dropping by my blog
Much🌻love
A wonderfully rendered, mesmeric piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteI think I carry that story inside me.
ReplyDeleteCome and learn this language
ReplyDeleteBone by syllable.... oh that is so good!
Stories are living things. And we are the blood that oxygenates their heart. They were. With our help, they continue to be... in different ways... as they birth the future.
ReplyDeleteI like the repetition in this poem, which emphasises that the owning of stories is so important. I especially love the lines:
ReplyDelete‘Even if you are a new myth,
Come and learn this language
Bone by syllable’.
I think of the family stories that circle around my family every time a bunch of us gather together and smile.
ReplyDeleteSuch a memorable poem this is, Chrissa! ❤️
ReplyDeleteINVITATION:
ReplyDeleteMonday WRites 193 is live at my blogVERSES
Much🌻love
You were a story that my mother told me
ReplyDeleteYou are the future that watches us
You are the child I told....
And You are all of us, I suspect....
A poignant storytelling, a folklore or heritage....Lovely.
ReplyDelete“Come and learn this language /bone by syllable.” Beautiful poem, Chrissa. It speaks to the future.
ReplyDeleteGreat idea and beautifully executed.
ReplyDeleteThe story hand down idea reminds me of Roots . . :)