"But... Why?"

We don't have the beats, or the smoke-filled readings... but we have a keen sense of sharing observations. Hope to transcend, to find depth, to start our own revolution with thought!
Let's search for and share the New Poetry as it changes form...

In a small moment:
                                                   
SITTING outside on a metal folding chair, I was waiting for an audition. Several people milled around in stileto boots, carrying portfolios. A director talked to an actress about her ability to do stunts... She looked nervous, but said she was able. I looked down to my multi colored loafers and old sweater, and wondered what piece of the puzzle I would fit into amidst this lot, if any.

I had just found out that I hadn't gotten called back for a project I had been working incredibly hard for, for some time. Disappointment was definitely sitting with me, though you are supposed to brush these things off and move along. Logically, that is what you say, but it never really works completely. Because there was a moment you were very hopeful about the outcome, and had to be in order to continue onwards. And that hope must be redirected in the moment of "no."

On this day, as I sat reading over blue high-lighted lines, another moment of optimism setting in... A little boy came out of the audition studios holding the hand of his mom. He was dressed in a smart little plaid shirt and khakkis, and carried himself like this whole thing was his idea. As he squinted his eyes looking upwards to mom, he said, "But... But... I don't understand why I didn't get a call back on that audition." He looked down to his loafers in reflection, and pulled down on her arm in protest. She bustled along to the car with keys jangling as he continued, "They said I was the best in the whole day!  They... they said I was the best! But why didn't I get a call back? Why?" She didn't know what to say. A tugging arm and hustle seemed to be the answer. He continued to look into the sun, to his mother's face, that said, "Onwards we go."

I smiled to myself because I related to the little boy. He didn't know it, but I was comforted in sharing that moment with him- we understood each other- a little five year old who decided to make fighting upstream his life, as I did.

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