On stories and their consequences

Can a story like that be written by you?

Cultivated edited even conceived by you?

I don’t think so mr color blind

You see that story was written by one of my students

I remember the angst and the fear

Do stories have responsibility you ask?

As much as you do

Imagining sorrows and silences that you deem natural

But are political

They have consequences

There is power in reconstruction


The difference between a story and a non story

Is the difference between facing Danger and being in comfort

That story had to jump over the bridge of impossibility

To believe itself possible.


What did you do to them? You gave them a voice?

I ask them to make up a character

Because the I was too painful and too close

I hold a space for awkward silences over and over

Until something crack

In our hands

At times I become perspective - a lens a distance a third space a mirror

You need perspective when the world wants you flat.

There is power in reconstruction


Sometimes I am just a nuisance


If someone write death on a page

I let my coffee chill

I seek more truth than ‘die’


You see stories come from some place but even you know that.

But stories also go places.

And yours can only go so far before they smell the artifice


Ask me where does their story go?

I will tell you it is meant to survive

And pick up meaning as it goes

Like dust on the pavement of this quiet city


This is neither rhetoric nor identity politics

On a coffee break


It’s how traumas write themselves on a page

Because there is really no other way.


The angst the fear the wisdom of trying

In the beginning was just an intuition


Their story will go places.

©2019 by Marika Preziuso. Uprooted Transplanted.