I have stories inside of me.

They peek out from dark corners 

like street urchins 

sizing things up 

looking to see if it’s safe to come out 

or if there is anything worth coming out for.

I try to coax them, 

welcome them close.

Like a barren woman

I want to cradle them, 

even if for a moment,

but they dart and slide back 

behind looming shadows.

I chase them until I’m breathless, 

but they always disappear around corners. 

I haven’t caught one long enough to look it in the eyes.

So I wait.