beware...you could be affected....
precarious poetics
We met at a spoken word cafe. You read a short erotic poem about eating fresh fruit: oranges, grapes, cherries, blackberries, and peaches. I found myself closing my eyes trying to imagine the sweetness of the taste.
I thought it had been a good idea that you had brought each fruit as a prop for your performance, tasting, licking, and sucking each one tenderly. I felt a warm wave of sensations grow in my body, starting from my temples and concluding in my chest. I concentrated on the sounds your lips were making as you were carefully teasing and eating each piece, it sure looked good; I thought I might go to the twenty-four hour grocery store and buy some for myself. When you came to the part about fuzzy peaches, you made eye contact with me and I could feel the heat inside of me grow as you nibbled the tip of it. I immediately became embarrassed and attempted to escape your eyes; they were sending me familiar feelings that I had never felt before, from a woman.
"What is going on?" I said under my breath. When you finished your poem the crowd clapped, swirling around the scent of nag champa incense in the room and I watched you heading to your seat, almost directly behind mine. When you passed by, I smiled and wished that something intelligent would come out of my mouth, but instead I said nothing. I felt a presence beside me and heard you whisper something inaudible in my ear. I turned a bit to hear you better and asked, "what did you say?" and you responded “did you like my poem?" Immensely, was the first word to pop into my head, but not wanting to appear too eager I said that it was "very nice" and that your delivery was on point. You thanked me and then settled back in to your seat as the next poet was approaching the mic. I tried paying attention to what the poet was saying, but I had that funny feeling that you were watching me and it unsettled and excited me at the same time.
Lost in my thoughts I heard clapping again as the poet left the stage.
"So what was is about the poem that you liked?" you ask continuing the brief conversation as if time had not passed. I ponder over this for a minute and tell you that it was the feeling the poem gave me.
"I was able to put myself inside of it, I could almost taste the fruit as you were eating it." You smile with a satisfied look on your face.
"Do you write also?" you question me.
"Yes, but I rarely read to large audiences," I remark. You tell me you would love to be able to hear some of my work privately, but would be content with being able to read some of my work. I had one of my poetry books in my hand, but instead of handing it over for you to read, a lie pops out "I don't have any with me, but I am looking for a writing partner to help critique my work. Will you be here next week, I can bring some then." I didn't know a subtle way to get a chance to see you again, without seeming like I was actually interested in you. Me interested in a woman? Only as a friend...but why was I so nervous around you?
"Sure, I generally come every week," you say reaching out your hand and telling me your name. I extend mine shaking your soft hand. It's so delicate, I'm afraid to squeeze it too hard. As you pull away your hand, I feel your middle finger gently trace down the center of my palm, almost unnoticeably. Is this chick flirting with me, I wonder to myself? I'm not really certain, but what I do know is that your poetry is spectacular; you appear to be friendly, and more importantly, like Maxwell might say I wanna get to know ya.
We became quiet again as the last poet of the night takes the stage. He reads a powerful poem about demanding reparations from the government. The energy he put into his words had everyone's attention and when he finished, we all stood up to clap. In the fervor that he summoned from the audience, there was loud chatter that commenced after he left the stage. In the commotion, I lost sight of you. Now where did you go? I couldn't see you anywhere; the room was thick with people and the candlelight in cafe made it impossible to distinguish faces from a distance. After a few futile attempts, I resigned from my search. I guess it was just as well. I don't think I am prepared to deal with all the drama that would have ensued in my family if I were to date a woman. But still, I wonder what could it have been like?
Perhaps I'll come back to the cafe in next week to find out.
Copyright ã 2003 by blaque raynebow
