Knowledge, is a stubborn thing,
it holds fast in the shadows
and even, as perspective shifts,
still shimmers in the witchy light
of falsehood.
Stories buried deep, are told
in the lore of a family’s choosing,
a narrative thread,
from mother to daughter,
then daughter to child,
writ large upon a lifetime.
In stony ground
we grow slant.
Even the most tender,
emerging with such vigor,
devoid of sunlight,
will wilt, turn sallow.
Illumination then.
I’ll hold those roots, but
seek the sun,
unfaltering in my telling.
I’ll lay my secrets in the grass,
like a bird drying its wings
after the rain.
STK