The Storytellers
Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
They tell stories they learned
in school, take off their shoes,
black out a tooth, put on
straw hats to look cute.
.
They hold their hands
the way the teacher
told them to
.
talk about possums
and articulate with
just enough
dramatic accent
.
to make the crowd
in the auditorium go
hee hee and a haw haw.
.
Then they get in SUV’s
and drive back to
gated communities.
.
Old Mr. Orrie tells stories
at the Fish House for hours
on a black dock that rocks
when waves lap against it
.
under a full moon that burns
a gold hole through heaven.
.
He carves a loon decoy
while he talks, sun hard arms
a criss cross of white scars.
.
Curls of wood fall
soft in the rhythm.
Feathers appear
with a whisper
of his hands.
.
When the spirit moves him,
Mr. Orrie picks up his guitar
and sings Lonesome Wind
for a while, then tells us
.
about that spring in ’48 when
a gale came down from the north.
It rained blue crabs for three days.
.
That was the first time
Mr. Orrie learned how
to catch a headwind and
make his shrimp boat fly.
.
Beside the neverending tale
of live oaks and salty roots
.
he didn’t once
talk about
possum stew
.
and he didn’t
go to school
or charge us
a rusty penny.
.
.
The Buffaloe Pen 