The Poetry Reading

Everyone’s afraid to touch

the microphone, everyone

except you.

You, reflected in the bottom of

a water glass, sun in every window,

bouncing off buildings,

and turning your outline

into art.

You, with shoulders relaxed,

chest rising easily with each

soft laugh. Sweet, and genuine,

and self-assured,

a real natural.

Deliberate and calm,

handing that assurance

to each open palm in the room.

 

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