is not turning the way you thought <br />it would turn, gently, in a little spiral loop, <br />the way a child draws the tail of a pig. <br />What came out of your mouth, <br />a riff of common talk. <br />As a sudden weather shift on a beach, <br />sky looming mountains of cloud <br />in a way you cannot predict <br />or guide, the story shuffles elements, darkens, <br />takes its own side. And it is strange. <br />Far more complicated than a few phrases <br />pieced together around a kitchen table <br />on a July morning in Dallas, say, <br />a city you don’t live in, where people <br />might shop forever or throw a thousand stories <br />away. You who carried or told a tiny bit of it <br />aren’t sure. Is this what we wanted? <br />Stories wandering out, <br />having their own free lives? <br />Maybe they are planning something bad. <br />A scrap or cell of talk you barely remember <br />is growing into a weird body with many demands. <br />One day soon it will stumble up the walk and knock, <br />knock hard, and you will have to answer the door.<br /><br />Naomi Shihab Nye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-story-around-the-corner/
