by (c) Nin Harris 2012

Cadence, she said.

Cadence and rhythm
and meter; timed glottal stops
for some and an almost
child-like singsong for others.

Sitting at the back in poetry readings
listening to other poets express
their words through the music of their own
voices, I am struck silence.

I do not write poetry for a year.

Cadence, she said.

Solitude births poesy;
I exhale when I read, then I inhale –
gulp and let cadence envelope me.

A one-woman poetry reading in a messy bedroom.

This is how my words are birthed.

—
Note: This is a sister-poem to Shame, both are about attending open-mic readings.