Here. I. Am.

 Here I am 

Here I am

again,

In a forced social setting,

My weekly attempt

to go to a group event,

Today it’s poetry

at a bookstore.

I can sit alone

near

people I don’t know.

Listen to a published poet,

Try to convince myself

to read one of my own

in the open mic

that will follow her fifteen minutes.

She’s reading from her latest book.

Bright yellow sticky notes 

match the book cover.

Should I or shouldn’t I?

Will I or won’t I?

She’s almost done.

There are five readers signed up

I’m not feeling it yet.

It.

The elusive it

The powerful it

That keeps me listening,

Thinking I could do this.

But I don’t.

Usually I don’t.

Ah, 

but, today

I did.