We are collections of stories—yearning

Yearning, a dog curled next to us

We are full, the tops of our heads aglow with stories

We are stories

How we tell them matters

I can tell them so many ways

I can paint myself tall: Survivor

I can paint myself innocent & scarred

I am a runner running—1, 2, 3, 4

I am a woman with sciatica, crying by the side

of the trail that ends at the Strait,

the pattern of nerve pain pulsing

I am found: 1, 2, 3, 4

We are collections of stories—yearning

Yearning for a dog curled next to our nerves

Comforted by silence.

 

*book by Ocean Vuong