hardbodied poetry

i didn't want to go to the open mic last night, just a couple hours before, when i'm usually raring to go, i couldn't get moving. i wanted to just stay home, pull the blankets up over my head and be comfortable.

isolating is a great danger when one is depressed, so i forced myself forward. to get up (yes, i was even in bed).

i really didn't have any reason to go last night, i didn't even know what i'd read and i've felt strangely estranged from my own work of late. so it's like taking a frigid woman to bed, more duty than fun.

after calling my husband, who immediately agreed i should not go if i don't feel like it, (i tend to do the opposite of what he says, maybe he used reverse psychology on me. that sneaky devil), i made myself, made myself get up and get moving.

things got sunnier when he got home and i moved in the general direction of the car. but after running a couple errands, i went by the library because i knew bly would get me through. it was one of the curious things that motivated me. i have a new bly book i'm working on (four of them, actually). if nothing else, i would have some time to read him before the open mic.

i picked up bly's new poetry book from my side table and read nearly all the way through it before my husband got home. it was just what i needed to change my perspective, which admittedly, was grim.

so after my poetry infusion, i dash off to the library and proceed to lock my keys and my spare key in the car. i was suffering from blinding brilliance, apparently. my mind is too focused sometimes for my own good. i got a whole pile of things, including another bly poetry book and went out to find myself stranded.

after unsuccessfully calling my knight in shining armor, i decided to walk home and retrieve my husband's key. i don't do damsel well, and if it is a choice between sitting idly by and having a hand in my rescue, i'll have a hand in it every time.

on the walk home, i kept wondering what i was to learn by this little venture. i hadn't walked yesterday to that point, and i think that was part of it. i get depressed when i stay home. walking does me good. but i also heard a poem on the way back to the library.

i hopped in my car after rescuing myself, and lit off for the open mic.

the crowd was rough. i could feel the weight of powerful poets in the room. there was scant applause for those who did not bring works up to par. i was nervous (and i don't get nervous at these things, but like i said, there is a whole different calibur of poetry here. and i still didn't know what i was going to read).

the whole evening had a matriarch feel to it, so i read elephant families, a poem about matriarchs, and lament--one of the black poems i wrote over christmas.

the room had a tolerant feel through most of the readers. there were a couple moments when older ladies punched through the jaded listening. but when my moment came, there was palpable silence. no restlessness. everyone was engaged.

something happened to me when i came here. in texas i was a young, stumbling poet. here, when i read, i am all about performance. each word annunciated with power and eye contact the whole way through. i'm not really estranged from my work, it is in me. deep in me and comes out at moments like these.

my poems were very well received. the matriarch of the place said,

well done.

which was huge praise. i lit on out of there feeling like i knew my plan and purpose in life. i am a poet. when i get to be fully poet, reading my work, even briefly, it is as if i have wings and can fly. (but that is part of the poem i have yet to write so i won't talk about it any more).

poetry is a powerful force. i am grateful mine is trimming down into what i heard my mind call it last night, hardbodied poetry. i'm learning to trim the fat and choose the best of what i've got. so far, so good.