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.