For Linda Foster <br /> <br /> <br />I <br />Because we used to have leaves <br />and on damp days <br />our muscles feel a tug, <br />painful now, from when roots <br />pulled us into the ground <br /> <br />and because our children believe <br />they can fly, an instinct retained <br />from when the bones in our arms <br />were shaped like zithers and broke <br />neatly under their feathers <br /> <br />and because before we had lungs <br />we knew how far it was to the bottom <br />as we floated open-eyed <br />like painted scarves through the scenery <br />of dreams, and because we awakened <br /> <br />and learned to speak <br /> <br />2 <br />We sat by the fire in our caves, <br />and because we were poor, we made up a tale <br />about a treasure mountain <br />that would open only for us <br /> <br />and because we were always defeated, <br />we invented impossible riddles <br />only we could solve, <br />monsters only we could kill, <br />women who could love no one else <br />and because we had survived <br />sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, <br />we discovered bones that rose <br />from the dark earth and sang <br />as white birds in the trees <br /> <br />3 <br />Because the story of our life <br />becomes our life <br /> <br />Because each of us tells <br />the same story <br />but tells it differently <br /> <br />and none of us tells it <br />the same way twice <br /> <br />Because grandmothers looking like spiders <br />want to enchant the children <br />and grandfathers need to convince us <br />what happened happened because of them <br /> <br />and though we listen only <br />haphazardly, with one ear, <br />we will begin our story <br />with the word and<br /><br />Lisel Mueller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/why-we-tell-stories/
