once upon a time,

we all told stories imagining

no stories had ever been told,

so they could be understood.

and only after we had

told the stories,

screaming to be heard,

did we know

everyone

must tell the stories their own way,

so they understand.

and then we discovered it is the stopping

of storytelling our own tales

which pinches off our heartstrings.

selling the scramble to tell

the stories of them

they who

over there

whence and wherefore.

once upon a time:

i died.

and the stories stopped.

so standing in the dirt with sticks,

they built empires.

but said nothing.

gathering acorns,

placed on concrete

so everyone could see the bounty -

no touching.

say nothing.

just stare.

at the stacks.

once upon a time: i began again.

ⴲ.