Storyteller - a Poem for the End of 2025

I wrote this poem today, on the final day of 2025, while considering the stories I tell about myself, and the stories others choose to share with me. I also thought about the way we tend to set the year aside as a fixed entity, and how our stories can become fixed, too.

My hope is to move more fluidly between stories, to hold them tenderly in my open palms, without grasping too tightly.

Storyteller

by Molly Grace Hicks

What stories did you tell to this year?

The stories etched patiently in stone,

or those written in sand, quickly washed away?

Some of the stories I’ve told to this year are tired,

told to many years before this one.

Who can say which year heard these stories first?

The stories of my efforts, my intentions,

my worries, my hopes, my longings.

My Story.

Is there room for a new chapter?

For a plot twist?

What stories did this year tell to you?

The stories of your own isolated group,

or those of interconnectedness?

My Story, Your Story, Our Story.

Our Story never tires of telling itself to us.

Sometimes its words may be whispered

My human ears strain to hear

And yet, the Eternal Heart beats them out

in a miraculous Morse Code

Thump thump

Thump thump

What’s this?

Each beat a synonym for love.