Found Poets at the Lost Church

Photo by Sacha Ortega, my friend since second grade, who has a knack for bringing out a crazy smile in me every time, or was it the wine, or the poets, or the poems?

Last night I fulfilled what has to have been a longtime dream of mine: to read my poems along with other poets in San Francisco’s North Beach at a cool, underground, red-velvet-curtained venue.

I read as one of the Found Poets at The Lost Church on Columbus Street with friends Mike Giotis and Jonah Raskin. And there were three other poets reading whom I met that night for the first time: San Francisco’s Poet Laureate Tongo Eisen-Martin, Dannie Ruth, and our fabulous headliner, Joseph Jason Santiago LaCour from Santa Cruz.

My husband Daedalus commented that the place looked like a funeral home for vampires. Our friend Steve asked if I was nervous and that’s when I realized that I wasn’t. Which is insane, because I’ve spent my whole life nervous about everything.

Was it because I was in the vampire lair where things felt comfortable and relaxed? Or was it due to six of my friends who actually made it there to hear me read my poetry in North Beach? (Much appreciation to all of them!) Or maybe it’s because I’m older now, and not as self-conscious anymore (haha).

I read from the introduction of my book 1912, Poems of Time, Place and Memory about how memory shifts and morphs through time. Then I read two poems from the book and two new poems about the Petaluma River.

There were many highlights that night, including a memorable line from one of Joseph’s poems: “Bury the past, you can always go back for it later.” That’s great advice. And his entire poem Heart.

There was also a poem that Jonah read called I Miss My Blackberry about missing things that were never had, like a Blackberry (the device) and particular places.

I have always been fascinated with the idea that you could miss a thing you didn’t have, a place you hadn’t been to, a person you didn’t know, a time that wasn’t yours, or even an experience you didn’t have.

Could these missings be memories? Like of places your ancestors were, or things your descendants might do, or even things you might eventually have yourself?

Maybe like reading poetry in North Beach?