The Epilogue

I am a storyteller, 
through and through
A childhood defined by
Long afternoons spent around
a kitchen table
Listening
Learning

A bellowing laugh
Between sips of sweet tea
Faded fast-food mugs
In topographical hands
Mountains, valleys, creases
a story of their own.
Age and wisdom
To have both
A story in itself

Receiving
My own stories
Before I could
Decode
Lines and curves
Connected on a page
Before I could connect
A written story to my own

Once upon a time
A parental loss
A sick child
Left to fend,
to fight battles
Illness and Ill will
A tale of
defiance and defeat

A tale of force
Into my story
Into my body
An ink spill
Permeating the pages
A did
cannot be undone

A mystery
of madness, mania
A page turner,
the answer
Escaping on the breeze
of your exhale

An epoch of war
disguised as romance
An era of fear
disguised as family
An age of harm
disguised as home

The reveal
The rise
The run for your life
The strengthening
The escape

The heartache of another
More painful than my own
History repeats itself
Every fairy tale
Begins with tragedy

The hero’s journey
Metamorphosed
Metaphorical
mountains to climb
Led to literal
Landscapes of grandeur

The epilogue is
written
spoken
painted
in technicolor
shades of a
post-storm sunrise
Illuminating a new day

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