stories

I Come With My Ancestors

kikirosner

I come with my Ancestors

to tell you a tale

of loss and acceptance

love and redemption

*

I bring with me

the long line of people

preceding my coming

 they gather around my person

as I sit here to tell you

that no story is told

without the telling

of ones Forbearers

 those who have passed on

their feats, failures

loves and fears

to us, their Continuance

*

I come to you today

with the stories of a people,

my people, told already

or untold, their stories

that are mine will be revealed

*

my Elders

the intrinsic matter

of my genetic make up

 the fabric

of so many mysteries

 a weft of understanding

woven into my soul

when I listen

*

my ancestors

loved or unloved

they are my life

and I, in the middle of my journey

am an Elder in the making

*

les trois freres

My Story

kikirosner

Deep down in my throat

is a World of Wonders

lost to my Grasp

reveals itself with an Itch

Sets off

a series of Pictures

moving too Fast

I choke

 as they Hurtle

Past my larynx,

desperately

I try separating them,

to no avail,

they speed up

I cough

Missing the message

meaning, colors

The Story

instead I Hack away

until saliva, my lubricant

Rescues me

or, if I’ve been alert enough

the water I sip

at regular intervals

Douses the ignited spark

lodged alternately

right or left

of a vocal cord

drowning the Story

altogether

Art work by Yaron Rosner

Art work by Yaron Rosner

The Skin

kikirosner

 

Skin, our outermost garment

tells our innermost story, reveals

Sins of commission and omission

shades of wax, a burdened liver

reds, an excitable heart

grays, worried kidneys

 

Art work by Yaron Rosner

Art work by Yaron Rosner

There are the hardenings of defense

the thinnings of despair

the wrinkles coarse and strong

or fine and effaced

 

Each line and hue

tells the story of its bearer

points to a history

of doing and undoing

 

There is no hiding

The Stories We Carry

kikirosner

Drawing by Yaron Rosner

Entwined in the network

of our lives

are the stories we tell,

the events small and big

of months and weeks

we partake, delve

listen, sometimes gush

But, it is in the embraided

quality of our connectedness

that we relate

one to another

reveal our humanity

strong and weak

hard or forgiving

and find in our resemblance

the strength to continue

the valiance to accept

the heart to see the beauty

we share, social beings

that we are,

to pretend otherwise

is to live a life alone

dry as dry ice is dry,

and in the end

to die of thirst

a plant apart

with no story at all