At This Party
i am a poet, a purpose, a promise - and 10 good things
I went to my husband’s friend, playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis’ party last year and I ended up reading a poem on stage. Not this poem. This poem was birthed from my brain the day after the party.
I used to love parties… or did I? Maybe I just loved drinking. The thing I’m realizing in my “maturity” is that I’m not too keen on large gatherings unless there’s a focus. Like, performing, sharing, dancing… otherwise, I’m a floating leaf not sure where to land and once I do land, I’m worried about a large foot stomping down on me from above or worse yet, the large foot turns into a mouth and wants to make small talk with me which hurts my head with its smallness or maybe i just don’t know what to say anymore and I just…well, anyway… here’s my poem.
listen here: At This Party 🎧
i am not new
i’ve been here before
i am a poet, a purpose, a promise
am i? i can’t remember
last night i wintered their guitar with my balloons
i microphoned my pages with their moon
and i made them listen
i went to a backyard party
to listen to music under twinkly lights
to cook clever words for backyard hellos
i panthered fresh quicksand to wormhole a cageless zoo,
just so i could slinky a new story
i don’t know anyone here
“Do you know where the host is?” I ask a sleepy-faced man. His black hair is silky long with no particular place to be. He wears a checkered scarf in a loose bow that has a slight smell of patchouli
But of course, even a slight smell of patchouli is not slight enough
“Yeah, it’s that guy over there,” Sleepy Patchouli face says, pointing to someplace in the middle distance
at this party — they are a well-oiled ensemble
at this party — they are a hit series
at this party — i am only a day player
but i was invited (wasn’t i?)
so i listen to their music
so i drink their wine
so i tell myself it’s just one night
i remember this\i am not new
i don’t like telling people who i am
i never know where to start
(or when to stop)
i want them to discover it themselves
(read me a few pages each night before you sleep)
i want them to already know
(i want them to Google it)
i’m laughing at inside jokes i don’t get
i’m pickling peanuts by the seashore in my mind
the stage opens up for the next musician and i
flashback to my coffeehouse days, open mics and hippie vibes, the 90s in Hollywood and in the Valley, Common Grounds and Kulak’s Shed
i would tell stories to strangers, i would improvise for laughs
i belonged then and there
so why not here and now?
what’s changed?
only me
in that moment a train whistle swallows me whole
and before I can talk myself out of it…
I lighting-bolt a ghost!
I arson a memory!
I get up on stage!
I ask the band to softly play while i read
As I read
each word-kernel pops out of my mouth and starts to gather at my feet
POP. POP. POP.
Slowly at first, then gaining momentum,
the popping gets louder and faster, POPPOPPOPPOP
letters become words, words become sentences, POPOPOPOPOPOP a popped paragraph mountain rises around me, it lifts up past my thighs, my belly, my chest, and just when I think I might be buried by my own poem, when it reaches my heart,
POP! POP! POP!
the popping stops
my bucket is full
i am a poet, a purpose, a promise
i am
i remember now
Below is a link to some GOOD THINGS that happened in the world in 2023.
Read and remember —it’s not all bad.