Anti-clockwise from left
Exploring now: stories

𝐼 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎 𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑘𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐿𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠
𝐿𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟.

On the first day:
We arrive, wide-eyed,
Eager to explore the exotic, almost extinct,
Not knowing we were already full of
𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑘 and 𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒.
From the corners of those very wide eyes
To the strands still held snug from childhood,
We just didn’t know where our stories lay.

We talk about
Gods behind masks and masked evils,
Temples left in ruins but their meaning still in place,
Differentiate between 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ and 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 goddesses,
And how everything is of value for worship but
Stories don’t need to be worshipped to last.
And on some days, we become the narrative.

On the last day:
We visit a museum.
Make our way from the palaeolithic to the just then history.
Nameless terracotta shapes, votives and stupas,
Snatched from their stories, their times
And arranged, encased, in the order
Of our meaning, in stick-straight lines.

My friend and I,
When no one is looking,
Lean in closer to the glass,
And generously whisper into them,
Give them some of our stories to hold.