My mother hisses storyteller —
a perceived insult
lashed from one of many therapists;
better than diagnosis > logorrhea,
but she never forgives the observation,
wears label and injury like a cape.
My lover’s mother also told stories —
a raconteur by vocation,
with a tenacious love
of form and function;
a legacy worn proudly,
crown of glory on a life well-spun.
In the dark,
he and I point to stars
as narrators of myth:
heroes journey, Psyche’s trials;
find simile and metaphor
as we pull costumes from closets
for an audience of heartbeats.
WORDS: ©2015, Jen Payne
IMAGE: The Muses Urania and Calliope by Simon Vouet