T-O-P S-T-O-R-Y

Top Story

That was never me

I was born the last word in an epilogue no one ever took the time to read

But who cared

I came after the drama, after the resolution

Superfluous

I was never meant to be top story

I was barely a straight sentence

Couldn’t think of threading a paragraph together

My story, whenever I dared to live it, seemed to be written with invisible ink

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Two words I dreamed of

Out of boredom, tied it to a string and released it to the sky

Watching it befriend the kites

Sometimes I’d see a cloud near it

Gently graze by and kiss the edges of the tall t

But then reject it with tomorrow’s rain

Then I’d pick up the mumble-jumbled letters off the wet pavement

And thread the letters back in order

T-O-P S-T-O-R-Y

And sit and wait unobtrusively like the last word in an epilogue

yet again