In Search of Poetry at Home, Part II

For the first time, I participated in two poetry readings in a single week. My family suffered.

When I walked into Barnes and Noble on a recent Thursday evening, I had no idea what to expect. Poetry readings are a hard thing to gauge. You find yourself in self-interrogation.

Will anyone be there to listen? Will anyone actually listen? Will my voice carry over cappucino preparations coming from the coffee bar? Can my ten year old daughter, who is on Easter break, wait until 9PM for dinner?

The bookstore offers a wonderful setup. The café is large; the store provides a microphone. To be truthful, I have never used a microphone because I have a fear of that screeching sound that so often occurs, even with the wireless type. I also have one of those voices that carry a distance, probably a result of mothering two headstrong daughters.

I was up third, and as I sat and listened to the first two fine poets, I was a little nervous. The second poet to read was dressed in a Department of Juvenile Justice uniform. He was a tall, handsome man whose age I could not determine. That automatically means he's not as old as I am. He took the stage and read a series of haiku like works that, delivered in a deep, musical voice, commanded the attention of all present.

When I went up to present, I mentally considered my image. A middle-aged woman dressed in jeans, a well worn sweater, and birkenstocks. I had not thought to touch up what little makeup I'd applied at 6:30AM. Have I told you I am brave?

I began to read, starting with a poem about Hurricane Hugo, and following that, the poem I wrote in honor of a man who was a dear friend of mine for a very long time. My friend died last year. He was gay. I read this poem every time I present. I tell each audience he was gay, because doing so can no longer hurt him. It is my way of balancing scales, and I always hope somehow he hears me. That poem never fails to touch people. The audience applauded before I continued, and that was the nicest moment for me in a long time.

I followed that poem with some others, and was very excited to see that people connected. They enjoyed my work. After all, each person was here because he or she wanted to be.

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