Exposure

I love to watch the eyes of the audience
at poetry readings, focused, mouth tense
or smiling, like children again listening
to a story they can’t read themselves,
reaching out to grasp the image
spoken on air, to hold for just a moment
this world of other, this utterance of same
they have to work for, leaving them open.
They look amazed, almost stupid,
going out of their walls and safely
crossed arms.  It’s why I always fall
in love with those who listen, who care
about the way the words sound and resound,
echoing down their own long halls of memory.

by Scott Owens

Email:  asowens1@yahoo.com