Stories are Alive Beings
The moon is my cup.
I drink the stars down.
Night is hot liquid steeped in clouds,
of my spirit; who scratch at the door;
Someone beautiful told me
Stories are live beings,
little animals who drink from the creek
of my spirit; who scratch at the door;
who invent absurd and curious ways
of being in the world; who
carve indelible maps in the sky
for the rest of us to follow.
Tiffany Midge, Sing: Poetry from the indigenous Americas, University of Arizona Press
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