The Short Story

Entry by: jaguar

19th May 2015

I wait for you to emerge, hesitant,
from oral traditions,
to name your characters,
knocking them in firm as tent pegs,
their habits and beliefs dug deep
to puppet-string pull them.

I am, to you, as yet, unreal
as you self-contain an incident
distil its essence into truth,
pool your literary techniques,
to make your miniature novel
transcend its theme.

I am an empty vessel rising
on ironing, kissing, doing the lottery,
I float through your canal,
new perspective inching out
as you pour yourself on pages,
cause a changed world.