She is the only one
My Hometown Poem #30
She is the only one Sitting at a table Of others Talking talking talking Making very important points over each other. She waits she waits she waits. She rehearses a line in her head. Edits it, refines it Repeats it over and over and over And raises her hand. But the talking continues. She is the only one Sitting at a table Of others Talking talking talking Making very important points over each other. She raises her hand higher And clears her throat But the talking continues. She waves she waves she waves And she waits Like a small ghost. The volume increases. She is the only one Sitting at a table Of others Talking talking talking Making very important points Over each other. She waits she waits she waits. She stands, Her heart beating wildly In her chest in her temples In her entire body As if she is a bass drum. She can feel the blood rising In her face Prickly heat climbing on her cheeks Moisture on her palms. She can smell her own sweat. She is the only one Standing at a table of others Talking talking talking Making very important points Over each other. She waits she waits she waits. She raises an arm Like Moses parting the Red Sea And with her hand outstretched Palm up She speaks She speaks she speaks calmy softly clearly. She is the only one Standing at a table of others She makes her own point A good point, a succinct point That was missing. Her words float into the air Notes in slow motion Like leaves falling from a tree Like a feather hovering in the breeze Like a kite catching a current of air. They stop. And watch her words Rising rising rising Falling falling falling. Landing gracefully Suddenly visible Suddenly audible. For a moment there is silence. Then blinking Blinking blinking A nod a head turn. And then the waves Crash down And the talking resumes. She sits. The noise is like cicadas in her ear Like static from a radio But then it sharpens Like a dial has been tuned As if she is inside The conversation Hearing it for the first time. Everything in the room Seems bright and crisp And the blood rushes from her ears Making her slightly dizzy. The pounding in her eardrums slows. She feels momentarily seasick Yet curiously alive. But she has done it. She has spoken. This time does not matter. Her legs are steadier now. Her heart is stronger now. Next time She’ll stand sooner.
Suzanna, I've probably read this half a dozen times now—brilliant writing! It's all too familiar, unfortunately, having to wait patiently to be heard among those speaking the loudest.
This is powerful. I felt her struggle and her triumph and I vow to be more mindful to make space for her and all of her sisters in future conversations.