She was maybe 5 feet 2 inches. Her hair was white and done in the classic grandmother style, short with big curls. She carried two pages, yellowed with age, with her to the front of the room. I could see that the words were written by a typewriter. I wondered how long she had been holding on to these poems. She took a breath and shared the inspiration for the first poem. With venom still in her voice she explained how her ex husband never paid child support, so as a single mom she held down three jobs. Too many nights she would be working while her young son would be sleeping. The poem was written at work as she thought about her child.
The poem used a refrain filled with dragons and castles. Her love for her child was clear. She shared her second poem about fireflies that had such a cool ending the whole room responded with a group, “Ohhhh”. As we snapped our appreciation she turned to me and smiled.
Earlier during the poetry workshop we were working on a poem, and she had written a powerful phrase, “A shadowless soul”. As she smiled I understood her line.
The open mic continued with a range of poetic styles and backstories for each poem. Stories of loss, of family pride, and even one about how hard it was to decipher a poem written down on a bar coaster. There were tears, laughter, and for a while a sense of community. This was the power of poetry, but more importantly the day revealed the power of the human heart.
I recently finished the book Walking the Trail by Jerry Ellis. He walked the Cherokee Trail of Tears backwards to his home. Along the way he met a variety of people, some giving him objects for a burial ritual he planned when he returned home, but all shared some part of their story with him. During the book he would share how he thought of those people, how their stories were part of his story now.
After the three author events I have been a part of, I understand that spiritual connection. Once I shared the inspiration for my latest book of poetry, While Death Waits, many people would share their stories of loss. Tears filling their eyes and voices. A moment of remembrance, and I think of healing. For a moment our stories bonded us, gave us a chance to know we were not alone. This is the power of poetry… the strength of the human heart.
It is all Connected 