Old Stories
Poem - by Lisa Timpf
when the first people began
their fumbling efforts
to explain the phenomena
that made them tremble,
like eclipses, or winter,
the fear that warmth
might never return,
they made up stories
for comfort, for solace,
and some of the stories
were scientifically way off base
and yet cut to the core
of meaning, the kernel of truth
at the heart of things
now that I am closer
to the end than the beginning
of my life’s journey, I wonder
what stories I should tell myself
about spring following winter,
about renewal, rebirth
perhaps I’m more like
those ancient shepherds
sitting on a hillside
gaping at stars
than I want to acknowledge
because I know
no more than they did
about what comes next
I can only shiver in the dark
and wonder