TELLING OUR STORIES - by Lucille Clifton

TELLING  OUR  STORIES by Lucille Clifton the fox came every evening to my door asking for nothing. my fear trapped me inside, hoping to dismiss her but she sat till morning, waiting. at dawn we would, each of us, rise from our haunches, look through the glass then walk away. did she gather her village around her and sing of the hairless moon face, the trembling snout, the ignorant eyes? child, i tell you now it was not the animal blood i was hiding from, it was the poet in her, the poet and the terrible stories she could tell.