About a year ago today, Abby and I were in this attic theater of this larger theater in Providence seeing Buddy Wakefield perform. I had been a fan of his since about 2010, and had been starved for live poetry since. Why I never partook is beyond me. I think I was a much different person back then.
I guess it doesn't matter when you show up to your own life, provided that you do. And I did- with a week left of my 25th year.
Prior to the show, Abby and I met Wakefield. He had the pre-performance frenzy in his eyes that I've seen in a lot of creative types, but he was friendly non the less. Abby was awkwardly grinning from me holding her hand so tightly.
I wasn't sure what to expect so it wasn't like I imagined the meeting a thousand times over, I was just happy to be there. I knew I wanted to have an in-depth conversation about inspiration and all the ways his work affected me, but all I could say was some cliche line about him changing my life, and I asked him to sign this red journal that Abby had gotten me as a maid of honor gift. He got confused which way to sign it, so in true poetic form he wrote this:
"Don't forget what side is up, Jessica." He said.
His show was flawless. I still can't talk about it without fangirling like a tween at a One Direction concert.
The odd and wonderful thing about poetry is that the right poem by the right poet always finds me when I need it too. It's a frequency I am always tuned into. If something ever happens to my memory, be it disease or an accident, or whatever- the way to bring me back is with poetry. I can promise you that.
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