In My Mind, The Stories Remain Unwritten Poem by RIC BASTASA

if i were to write the stories
about the lives of those who were already dead

remembering them when we carried
wrought iron in the hills

many years back and then when they were buried
on those shallow graves

and then i was the lucky one who escaped and then
kept on running and running without looking back

and then i change the color of my shirt and pants and
then i pretend that i have fully discovered the place for me

i tell you, if i make you read these stories, these will
all be about guilt, guilt, unnecessary guilt,

and i become so tired, i like to go back inside my room,
take my pillow, stare at the ceiling, and then

those bones come, each bone telling a story,
as i cover my ears, and promise that tomorrow

tomorrow, i will start to write and write truly about
what happened there, and then i may die in peace

even in my sleep tonight.