my last texas open mic

last night, for the first time, i read the complete death shroud poem and eve speaks poem at an open mic. when i finished death shroud a little nine year old girl, who was making her debut said,

maybe you should put something like, he lost his life in there?

every one's a critic. i replied,

maybe you should write a poem about that.

and she did. she got up to say a poem she just made up. this slight girl, had presence. she had no reservations about standing up at the mic, reading the first poem she had written that day (THAT DAY! mind you). she read really fast, but if i was nine at my first open mic, i'd probably read really fast.

she introduced the poem.

death

she said, then said nothing.

nevermind

she said, and sat down, but not for long. she wrote the poem on a paper, and tried again after the next poet.

death

she read. and it was a delightful poem about death. what a sweet girl. i told her,

it was years before i went to my first open mic after i wrote my first poem, you're way ahead of the game.

she smiled. she had to leave after her death poem because it was her bed time.

such simplicity, such beautiful simplicty. she couldn't care less about what critical arguments we'd make about her style, performance, or work. she just read what she had and blessed us all.

O to be like a little child again.