I want to be more than just a receptacle for memory
a repository for stories
a teller of truths, a chronicler,
a sifter, a winnower
But I feel like a shadowy ghost

I can build a house
windows, roof and floor
four walls and door
I can light a fire
and candles against the night
offer you a place of repose
when your thoughts take flight
But nothing more

You come to me for wisdom
when the world has hemmed you in
when it pushes on all sides
and you look to the horizon
You make me an outcast, a witch
on the edge of what you see
banished to the hovel in the forest
between the village and the sea

The house is empty, bare, unfurbished
a structure you inhabit only when you wander
then you seek me, looking for words to squander
a library, an index, the wind howls through
without you it’s bare bones mi amor
and nothing more

Are you ashamed, or do you want
to keep me to yourself
your little secret not quite dirty
not quite clean, but I’ve
grown weary of playing the role
in which you’ve cast me,
teller of tales, house of words
walls windows and floor
and nothing more–
so there’s the door.

Margaret King


Margaret King is a Wisconsin writer who enjoys penning poetry, short stories, and young adult novels. In her spare time, she likes to haunt the shores of Lake Michigan, similar to many of her fictional characters. She has forthcoming work out in Unlost Journal and Moonchild Magazine, and recently was featured on Déraciné Magazine’s website.

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