Stripped

Stripped of story would make me lonely.

If you take away people, I’ll talk

To animals, to insects, to plants.

To pots and pans, and coffee mugs,

The stream of water that pours

From the refrigerator.

If you take away my tongue, I’ll write about

Unrequited love among the bookshelves,

The struggles of the passion fruit vine,

My brief but brilliant friend the dandelion.

If you don’t take my eyes, I’ll use them.

And if my ears remain, I will hear stories

In the mere humming of machines.

If you don’t take away my skin,

I’ll crawl on the ground, and I’ll know earth

From mud, from rock, from blade of grass,

From asphalt, and from broken bottles,

From thorns and roots –

All of it will tell me a story.