I had seen a play recently by an organization called “Hidden Voices” (on the web here). The play was called “Home Is Not One Story.” What a powerful performance that was! I was brought to tears more than once by these stories. I think that many of the participants, actors and actresses, were telling their own story. I cannot be sure but that is what I wrote this poem below. I spoke to one of the actors in the play on Saturday night when I ran into him in town at a local restaurant and he said that indeed some of them are still homeless.

I do have a hard time meeting strangers, and approaching strangers. Yet somehow, when I saw this young woman who was in the play, at Weaver Street Market, I found the courage to approach her and tell her how moved by the performance, her performance. That is unusual, very unusual for me to approach a stranger and say something. I usually will comment to someone if they just happen to be standing near by. However, I was very interested… not because she was a woman but because of the nature of the performance, the play, and how moving it was. I thought that when I wrote this, it might read like there was attraction but that wasn’t it, any more than I was curious to learn more about the stories behind the guys that acted in the play. Were they indeed telling their own story?! The guy I met Saturday night, the night after I saw the play, didn’t say if that was his story.

They certainly gave the impression that it might have been their own stories they were telling. That to me, almost felt like being nude before an audience, raw, exposed. I suppose that’s how I’d feel. I do that with poetry, but I suppose even the most honest “confessional” poets, have limits to what private details they will reveal.

Exposure and Courage

I did it, confronted my fear, over came it,
and went up to introduce myself to someone.

I met a star today.
Her name is Rita.

Her play is called “Home is not one story” -
a powerful drama on homelessness,

Filled with personal, painful, honest stories;
She had told HER story to audiences.

I wanted to ask her so many questions -
What motivates a person to reveal

private details of suffering,
I mean where does one find the courage?

Where did I find the courage
to admit that during the performance

I was in tears at times?
Do you want to be left alone?

Was that enough bare exposure on the stage?
You sit alone at the market.

I sit alone writing,
but for a few moments, just moments ago,
I wasn’t alone.

If I got up on a stage,
told a crowd what I wanted,

Would I still sit alone? Be alone?
Probably.