(find the previous part here)
***
of course we know
stories aren’t real.
But we are real (probably)
and language is real (for all its holes)
and imagination and empathy are real
and in the bubbling soup of us, words, and pretend,
out comes this flavor
of bakery-made meals
and warm bread,
or maybe
tastes of foreign cuisine,
and it fills our mouths and minds
if not our stomachs
with
courage.
And I think
that’s real–
the
way a story
talks your heart
through feeling a thing
it couldn’t feel
without getting outside its skin a little.
Stories hunt us that way,
they give us a taste of more,
more than what we have,
more than what we feel,
and they promise
none of the danger will last
past the ending,
but the good feelings
sure will,
so why not
seek out another story
to take your heart out for a ride
to occupy your mind
to fill your mouth with flavors
other than trash and rancor,
why not
plant a little dream
idolize an author
root for a hero’s deeds
and put yourself in his shoes,
why not
imagine you are
stronger than your real self,
safer than when you sleep,
braver than what you seem–
stories
puff you up
before they eat you
and they eat you
like a pitcher plant,
luring you in,
not letting you go
while you drown in juices
all slow like,
high on the heady scent of sweet nectar
so you don’t want to leave
until you’re nothing left
but a husk of a hoper
whose heart finally ran away from home.
***
find my published book at this link
Jordyn Saelor 