Rain On Our Hearts
Nov 28, 2011
We write our dreams on paper and make our vowels and consonants speak. Some of us write of lost love, of being trapped, of our faith in God, of death, of conquered fear.., the list goes on
The night begins with rhythm instruments.
I choose the rain stick. Lifting it high into the air like a flag of victory after each person reads. Letting the beads fall through like the words that have just rained on our hearts.
I have two journals and a folded piece of paper. Poems and prayers fill each. I watch as a woman rises to read a poem her mother wrote during her life. I am inspired by conquered fears. And I raise my rain stick and cheer.
My friend, Carrie, is nervous as she reads her poem. She reads another.
Emily and I are waiting for our friend, Erin, to hear us read. We wait like the children in “Despicable Me” waiting for Gru to arrive at their ballet performance.
I have to read anyways.
My poem starts out about poetry. My voice fills the room. I think about the first poetry reading I went to. My friend Amanda took me.
“Poetry lets you see inside of someone,” she told me. “You’ll watch a man who seems uneducated read about how the colors of fall look like a woman’s blush.”
I remember my first time reading poetry. No one could hear me. I read too quietly. My hands shook. My insides felt like they were going to crawl out of my throat.
Now my voice is strong. My stomach doesn’t hurt. My hands only shake a little.
I hear the door open as I read. Erin walks upstairs and slips into the back of the room.
My poem, my best poem, is called “A Patchwork Quilt of Love.” I mention my friends, my family, the people who have touched and inspired me, and turn them into quilt squares.
“Princess crown print for Erin
body slamming me, meowing songs,
and making me laugh away darkness. “
And soon, my turn is over. I sit on the floor, and raise my rain stick as another friend walks to the front, ready, to show us all the words that were born in her heart.