Dear Unsealers,

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, two weeks ago. At the tail end of a hot, busy last weekend of July.

As the ferry from lower Manhattan arrived at Governor’s Island, I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it or not. Walking past the banner of the New York City Poetry Festival, I stopped for a moment to soak in the scenery. The sun shined bright, blue skies above my head, green grass and the sounds of poets speaking their truth surrounded me. It was as if I had arrived in the colorful world of Oz after surviving the black and white tornado. I was not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

But I was looking for one stage, in particular, the Ring of Daisies. Walking along Colonel’s Row the amount of stages began to shrink. Once the last rowhouse appeared, that’s when I knew I was in the right place.

None of the names at this stage were on the schedule banner in the middle of the site. Just a sign-up sheet, the stage, and a microphone.

It might have been the cup of cava that I had at the Beer Garden as I walked or heard all the poetry in the air, but I was emboldened at the moment. I put my name on the signup list.

To this point, I’d never performed my poetry in front of a live audience. Most of the time, my audience is on separate screens or the camera that’s attached to my iPod Touch. Today would be unchartered territory for me.

Yet, I had a poem in hand to read. Two of them.

The first one was a moment of frustration having to make a grown-up decision to replace my bed after twenty-two years. The second is a moment to recognize the friendships that made my life such a joy. The waiting began.

As I sat on the grass for about two hours, my name was finally called. It was showtime at last.

After warning the crowd that this was my first turn at the mic, I spoke my truths. And took a deep sigh of relief the moment I stepped down to the audience’s applause.

I didn’t know it at that moment, but I accomplished something special. I escaped my comfort zone.