I have never written under a strict time limit, never written in a group setting, and I have never before volunteered to be the first to read. I did all of these firsts yesterday, in the back corner of Literati, alongside seven others and Ms. Gray. For two hours, we owned the space where we got to know each other and, perhaps, ourselves a little better.

She had us warm up with writing out two truths and a lie, where I used levity as armor, making light of the too-much tequila still wreaking havoc from the night before. She then walked us through a guided reflection where we wrote a list of details about 1-2 significant moments in our lives that shaped how we see the world.

This workshop was called “Unlocking Your Creative Voice: A Journey Through Poetry With Mary Gray,” and I found the exercise a creative way to approach the idea of finding one’s voice. It could have felt like a confrontation, the existential hobgoblin sitting in the shadows of the mind – waiting for an unguarded moment of reflection. What Ms. Gray did was set us on a safe path, where we could find our voice within the context of a personal paradigm shift. And doing so in list form kept us at a distance when we could have easily gotten lost in the current of those memories.

Of course, my concept of change and reality is full of semantic u-turns and dark alleys, but I didn’t shoo those thoughts away. I just directed them toward newer reflections. Graduation, that event which was both the culmination of years and the prologue for what is yet to come. I have been thinking a lot recently about the root of why I hold myself back from all these things I could want. I hardly dared to imagine, let alone actualize, anything that might have led to a true current where the unfamiliar depths of passion could get the better of me. There have been exceptions when my intuition could not be ignored with its “do or die” kind of flair/re, but mostly I chose to list lazily along the bank.

However, I am beginning to understand that stability can be a crutch, that wanting to live calmly can be an excuse for ignoring opportunity. I have lived the consequences of risk, more than vicariously, and seen how far the little fruit of such labors could be stretched. I don’t want to live that life, but neither do I want to live in the shallows. If what I feel with a pen in my hand is even a fraction of what Mom felt with a mic in hers, I know it can lead to a sense of fulfillment that could make this incarnation one for the books. But to devote myself, to do what she could not-or would not-what might that cost? How do I keep moving toward a more realized version of myself when I have been nearly petrified between a fear of failure and a fear of success?

So, ten minutes of that tangential thinking, then we listened and read two poems: “Ego Tripping” by Nikki Giovanni and “Black Girl Magic” by Mahogany L. Browne. Mary asked for our impressions and guided us to consider how the different devices, such as metaphor, allusion, repetition, hyperbole, and distinctive tones (notable for their power in these pieces) influenced our interpretations, as well as how listening and not just reading helped us create deeper connections with the authors. It certainly made me more thoughtful about how I read. As it turns out, methodically is not always the best choice, especially when chewing over the words causes you to lose their rhythm. Reading in silence can impede the reader’s progress toward understanding the author’s intention. Listening offers the reader insight into how the words are meant to be weighed. The intention of diction, for example. The use of vernacular syntax is best-received aurally, especially for an unfamiliar ear; it may sound abnormal when you are reading to yourself, but natural when the author is reading to you.

She then gave us about 20 minutes to make something out of our reflection with consideration to the devices she noted in the samples. I may have cheated a little by starting with an idea I had written down a couple of days before, but I am calling it a win because I managed to have something applicable grow from that root within the time limit.

Have you ever noticed how nostalgia never gets old
It's never out of fashion
always found among friends
among strangers, it's common ground

Graduation was nostalgic
as it happened
novel, yet familiar
the faces of strangers
yours, beaming
from the shore of well-wishers
while we cast off
our caps, 1200 black and bedazzled
memories free-floating
on the brink of "what's next?"
a familiar fear
gilded and embossed
now hangs above my head

This will probably become something else, but I’m rather proud of the sprout and just want to enjoy it as it is for now. I am grateful to Mary for being such a kind and empathetic host. People came because they wanted to write – some didn’t know where to start, some didn’t know how to begin again – but everyone wanted to connect and she made that part seem as easy as breathing. I am also grateful to my fellow Literati Co-Op members for their constant encouragement. Optimism is not my natural state, but their buoyancy is catching. ;)