For over a year I attended a monthly open-mic literary night at the home of Scarlett Antonia. She held the event on the first Friday of the month in her studio in Peekskill. I went and read aloud my plays, fiction and poetry, as well as poetry by my charter school’s students.
I wrote the sonnet below before I went to her home last Friday night, only to learn that she had ended the open mic night the previous month, when I wasn’t there.
I’m sad to see it end. An amusing and intriguing mix of writers and spoken word artists always attended. We’d all sit on one side of her studio, and there’d be a single chair on the other side where volunteers would sit and read aloud whatever they were working on.
Sonnet for Scarlett’s Salon
In this salon we each sit with our Muse,
read aloud our stories, plays and verse.
I always leave with new ideas to use
inside my future writing. I rehearse
the words and phrases in my head. Compare
befores and afters. Sift and sort the gems,
unsure if the result’s well-done or rare.
And now I sit in front. With haws and hems,
I read to all of you the stuff I write.
Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s only fair –
But everyone’s alert. Your eyes shine bright;
Your loving clapping always fills the air.
Words may soar to heaven, sink to hell –
But which words stay with us? We can’t foretell.
– Bruce Ballard
