the brave woman at the open mic I saw the other night...

She stands behind the mike,
vulnerable,
looking a little battle-weary,
painfully,
hysterically naked,
clothed in floral summer dress;
she's never done this before,
she tells us,
as we sit in rapt apprehension,
for what is to come,
from her voluptuous mouth.

But then she recites,
not from printed page,
but from memory,
as if she's been doing this
for awhile,
and her voice,
which, at the start,
seemed slightly timid,
bursts forth
in a full-on,
almost deeply musical blast,
regaling us
with verses,
that,
alternately,
make us laugh,
make us cry;
resonate,
powerfully,
with our shared
humanness
and vulnerability
she has now
left us with,
breathless,
in standing ovation
and appreciation,
as she,
now confidently,
thanks us,
and leaves the stage.

© 2014 Joseph Powell