Peoples’ Complaint

My people
won’t mind me retelling
their stories,
even though they
are gone.

They can’t listen,
can’t poke me
or complain
when I miss details.

I have gone
listening for them,
and nothing echoes
back to me.

Black when
light is gone,
the hidden darkness
may be full of light
I cannot see.

I should want to
tell each story right,
as they might
some day for me.

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