You have to tell your story,
Turn the page and write it down,
Use blood, ink, chalk,
Smoke signals, Morse code, or sign language,
Telepathy or music,
The touch of skin on skin or poetry,
Or simply water calligraphed on a sidewalk,
letters drying as you write them,
But just write, for you will lose your stories,
forgotten like the collective experience of your parents,
Dulled like stones in an old Jewish cemetery,
Sunken under the weight of today.