the storykeepers

i am the mouthpiece of my ancestors,
the advocate of the yet unborn….

once i thought
i was packed away in dusty boxes
with yellowed labels….

•

after a life
of intense activity –

a certain stillness
haunts….

•

a young funny/crazy woman
and her children used to live here….

she told them stories
late into the nights --

and i used to listen….

•

old family tales gather
in the emptiness
of between times…..

among sad memories,
some pearls glow….

magnolia trees
hunting leases
gun oil
boiled coffee and flapjacks
sunny flat rocks
distant pines
tea dances
recitals
drums
feathers
cornbread
rocky canyons
arrowheads on sunday mornings
candied pecans
and a bowie knife in the door….

•

stories of the grandfathers
and the grandmothers:

hope grows
in dark places survived….

•

our unfolding never stops –

everything offers us its life!

wisdom lives
in fire and stone and night….

•

this is no time for the living dead!

someone needs to
keep the stories,
and tell them to children
over candlelight….

someone needs to speak the memories,
weave the magic of history
at the side of the crackling fire….

•

you are the mouthpiece of your ancestors,
you are the advocate for those yet unborn….

________________
©2012
beth anne boardman