On Monday night, Amy and I went to see the Night Kite Revival tour, made up of heartthrob poets Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, Derrick Brown, Buddy Wakefield, and Anis Mojgani, with musical transcendifying from Timmy Straw and Emily Wells.
So as I’ve said ad nauseum, I’ve been having this grief thing lately with trouble connecting. If souls weren’t connected to the infinite whatever, I’d be worried sometimes that mine was dying. But these poets have something really good for winnowing light through the cracks.
The parts of life that get me into trouble, the jumping in with both feet, falling bonkers-in-love, getting lost, having too much or too little faith, those things were all in there, and all valued. More than valued, revered. I felt normal for a little bit, like I belonged in the world.
These kinds of shows are always a little bittersweet, ‘cause I hate knowing they’re all leaving town the next day. Seeing Derrick means remembering that part of me always lives in Southern California. Thank goodness Cristin lives here at the moment or I may’ve stowed away in their van.
All over the country, my poet friends are piling like puppies into tour vans. I wish wish wish I could be with all of them. In all the places at once.
No comments:
Post a Comment