Original Fiction

Storytelling takes on many forms. The slice of life storytelling is my favorite. You tell what happened. The creativity comes in the word choices, but story development is done. No imagination required. In an effort to push my own creative energies, as well as broaden my courage in giving to an audience the imaginings of my heart. Most Fridays, I will offer original fiction. There will be excerpts from stories, a serial book or two, poetry, and when I am feeling shy or dry, I hope to feature original works from guests.  To get us started and to give me another week of working up my nerve, I offer this poem,  written in 2014.

Facebook

On any given day
framed on my wall
is a picture of humanity.
Anthropological data being
created and kept
by a culture
starving
to be known.
Seeds sown
Of wisdom to the masses
who process for mere
seconds
and then accept a game request.

A landscape where
announcements of
new babies
and
lost parents
share air with TMZ and Buzzfeed.
The precious
Liked
with the same button
as the
absurd.
Where words and pictures
Show
Piety and rebellion
Love and hatred
All from the same person
Within an hour
And
We realize we are all a
House divided
A personality split
A person who becomes
Different
Depending on the audience
Forgetting
That our own words
Our own images betray us
By reflecting our partitioned self
As a whole
To the masses.

Six hundred and eight people
Are deemed friends
When acquaintance seems more accurate
Except
For those two names who seem
Vaguely familiar
So you accept with hope.

On any given day
A whole life happens
As
One comes out of the closet
Another
Closes the door
One
Starts out on a great adventure
While another
Gives up on trying to understand.

On my wall
I weep the loss of life,
Celebrate a victory
AND become filled with
Indignation
Over the misunderstanding of
My particular political
Soapbox
All between
“May I take your order?”
And
“Drive to the next window.”

And somewhere in the
Soft blue glow of enlightenment
There in the screen of words
Is your own reflection
Judging your status
In the community of faces.
Faces
With no shoulders of comfort
Or hands of help.
Just words on a
Wall
That mean everything
And
Nothing
At the same time.

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