Open Mic Night

The poet steps up to the mic,
looks at us in the audience,
then reaches deep inside
and pulls out
a seashell,
twisted with finger-thick whorls,
lined with life ridges
and broken heart spires.
Cradling their seashell in their upturned hand,
the poet opens their mouth and exhales:

I can almost hear the ocean.

People lean forward
and cock their heads,
then lift their cupped hands
behind their ears.
I examine my hands
for cuppability,
and notice my palms
with fingerprints whorled,
life-lines ridged
and heart-lines broken.
I cradle these palms behind my ears
to amplify the poet’s keening.
But gradually
I turn my clam-shell hands
to cover my ears completely:

and now I hear the ocean.

The Lake , 01 March 2025.

Notes: When poets read their poems aloud, especially in the context of background noises in a crowd of people at an open-mic night, I find it challenging to hear every word and to fully comprehend the poem. Beyond comprehension, appreciation of a poem also depends on how it resonates with the listener. Perhaps, sometimes, a listener likes a poem best when it lets them hear themselves. Have you had this kind of experience listening to poetry? Is that the ocean you hear?

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