The Poet X

First Poetry Club Meeting

We are four in total, a small club,
two boys – Chris, who did a poem in my class
before handing out flyers, and Stephan,
who's super quiet. Then Isabelle from the Bronx.

Ms. Galiano welcomes me to the club
and asks everyone to read a poem
as a way for them
to introduce themselves to me.

Chris and Isabelle have theirs memorized,
but Stephan reads from his notebook.
My hands are shaking even before it's my turn and I just keep hoping
somehow I'll get skipped.

Stephan's poetry is filled with the most colorful images.
Each line a fired visual, landing on target.
(I don't always understand every line
but love the pictures being painted behind my eyelids.)

Chris Hodges is loud, a mile-a-minute talker.
a comment for every poem, everything is “Deep” and “Wow,”
his own poem using words like abyss and effervescent
(I think he's studying for the SAT).

And then there's Isabelle Pedemonte-Riley.
Her piece rhymes and she sounds
like a straight-up rapper. You can tell she loves
Nicki Minaj, too. That girl's a storyteller
writing a world you're invited to walk into.

I sit wondering how writing can bring
such strange strangers into the same room.

And then it's my turn to read.

Nerves

I open my mouth but can't push the words out.
It's not like when I read to Aman.
Although I wanted him to like it,
I didn't feel like I had to impress him.

But right now I'm nervous
and the poem doesn't feel done yet,
or like a poem at all, just a journal entry.

A fist tightens in my stomach
and I take a breath trying to unclench it.

I'd never imagined an audience for my work.
If anything my poems were meant to be seen and not heard.

The room is so quiet, and I clear my throat –
even my pause sounds too loud.
Isabelle speaks up.
“You got this girl. Just let us hear every word.”
Ms. Galiano nods;
and Stephan gives a soft “mhmm.”
And so I grip my notebook tight and launch into the piece.

[…]

I can't remember
the last time people were silent
while I spoke, actually listening.

My little words
feel important, for just a moment.
This is a feeling I could get addicted to.