Last week we lost Adrienne Rich, the lesbian poet, essayist, feminist who was unashamed of the inseparable ties between her personal life and her political perspective. Adrienne Rich once refused to accept a National Book Award unless two of my other heroes, Audre Lorde and Alice Walker, joined her onstage to accept on behalf of all women (read their acceptance speech here). She once declined the White House's offer of the National Medal of the Arts, writing in a letter, "[Art] means nothing if it simply decorates the dinner table of the power which holds it hostage."

Since I found out she died, I've been trying to write a poem in homage to her. But looking back with those words in mind, it feels as if all of my work is in homage to her. I really believe I wouldn't be doing what I do without the influence of women like Rich, Walker and Lorde. When I write, I always feel like I'm taking a risk. And without the courage of these women leading the way, I probably wouldn't take the chance.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the honesty of anger, the kind of anger I felt when I wrote a poem for Trayvon Martin, the teenage boy who was killed because someone deemed his dark skin "suspicious." I shared that poem at New Poetry Mission, and I'd like to share it with you now. Here's a video of my reading, brought to you by Litseen. I'd like to thank Adrienne Rich for opening the doors wide enough for my anger to pass through.

I'll be reading this and other poems tonight at MAPP, Mission Arts and Performance Project. There will also be live music, theater, film screenings and more, with art and healing and transformation taking place all over San Francisco's Mission District. Check out the whole program here, and the program for the event I'm a part of, Reflexiones, here.

This is for Trayvon.

I’ve got this thing about anger. The thing being that I don’t like it. I absolutely hate being the target of it, which is normal I guess, but I really hate to feel it, too. It’s something I could work on. Accepting it as a natural feeling. Nothing wrong with getting mad. 

My aversion to anger goes way back, to when I learned that being a good girl means being a nice and gentle person, and that anger often stems from misunderstanding and ends in regret. It also goes deep, to what it means to be an angry black woman, to embody an image that's part of both a negative stereotype and a painful truth. 

So I also tend to avoid expressing anger. I don't like to speak out of anger, for fear that I'll say something I regret, something I can't take back, hurt someone who doesn't deserve it, make someone feel guilty for something they can do nothing about. 

But sometimes there is anger that I couldn't avoid, even if I tried. And it's moments like these when I remember that getting mad can be good for something. 

Last night, I attended New Poetry Mission, returning to the local literary scene after a few months' absence. There were a few things that drew me back - wanting to reconnect with folks like host Sam Sax, for instance, and wanting to hear some good poetry, which certainly happened when feature Sean Patrick Mulroy (among others) blew me away with his work. 

But mostly, I wanted to go because I'd written a poem I wanted to read at the open mic. I wanted to read it, for Trayvon Martin. And I needed to read it. For the sake of expressing my own anger. 

The poem was what I'd call "raw" - just finished, still rough around the edges, nothing I'd consider submitting for publication or sharing with a writing group for critique. It's not what I'd call evidence of my skill or the mastering of my craft. But it's full of my anger. Anger that's honest, without censorship or hesitation. In a way, that means it's the best I've got.

This is the truth I cannot hide: when I look at the facts of Trayvon's murder, I get really, really mad. It feels like the kind of anger I'd want to tuck deep inside of a place that would never see the light of day, but it's all over that poem I wrote, and rather than hiding it, I released it into the world. I can't quite say that it felt good, because it felt terrifying, like it was coming from a sad, nearly hopeless place inside of me, but it felt right. 

My reading last night reminded me that anger has its place. For me, that place is in injustice. I am angry for Trayvon, and for everyone who could be in his place. I couldn't, and wouldn't, have it any other way. 

I'm deep in happy anticipation these days, for things like grad school and upcoming readings (details to come).

And at the moment I'm feeling grateful for this digital age in which I can share my life and experiences, even with those who are far away.

As I mentioned yesterday, I have a new video page with clips from some of my readings. I've added these videos, broken into two parts, from my most recent reading at New Poetry Mission.

The reading includes some of my most recent poems, some older poems, a shout-out to my first internet hate and more. I'd love to include you, blog family, as part of my audience.

Reading taped by my brother, Darius Johnson.

Time again to say yes to words. Tomorrow night I'll be the featured reader at New Poetry Mission.

What is New Poetry Mission? The way I see it, it's real poetry, right now. I think one reason I'm so excited about this reading is that it has nothing to do with anything I'm stressing about right now, as far as moving my career forward. It's not about getting published or getting into grad school. It's not about a proper way of writing or reading poetry. These are folks who are defining success on their own terms, and through their own words they're some of the most accomplished people I know.

Fun details: It's an open mic (get there early to sign up). Every other show is new stuff only, but this one's a theme night, and the theme is water... in any form or interpretation. It's hosted by the ever-fabulous Sam Sax, Nic Alea and Andrew Paul Nelson. It's at Viracocha in San Francisco, on Valencia at 21st. There is a really fun microphone that makes me feel like a lady who sings the blues and a bathroom in which it's quite possible to lose yourself. There's beer, there's wine, there's water, there's always a fun and supportive crowd with great energy. The show starts at 7 pm. Check out more details, and also observe how my bio gets more ridiculous over time, on Facebook here.

Please come if you can. That means you, lonely lurker, who reads about these events and feels intrigued but also feels like there will be no place for you. Believe me, there will be a place for you. And you, fearful writer, who earns the title as you scribble in your notebook each night but still hesitate to call yourself a real writer. You've earned it. Now there's nothing like the thrill of sharing it with others. And also you, yes you, who prefers to read poetry from the comfort of your own home rather than seeing it performed. Here's your chance to step into danger, the good kind, because watching some of these poets read live is like nothing you've ever witnessed. Hope to see you there.

Yes to words. Yes to warm rooms with wooden paneling, where the only reminder of the rain outside is the cold chill you get when you feel a poet's words as your own. Yes to people listening to poetry wearing the glistening remains of the wet journey they took to reach it. Wearing smiles that warm like fire. Wearing anything from soft cardigans to hard leather jackets, because it doesn't matter who's listening or who's performing or how, when we've all come together for the words. Yes to words.

Yesterday I wrote about performance in poetry. Then last night, I got a chance to read in two very different spaces. I thought I'd have plenty to report back on about performance, but the truth is, the thought hardly crossed my mind. Each person I saw read was performing in her or his own way, adding not fluff but the natural movement of a writer with her words, and in the end all it came down to were the words.

It wasn't just poetry. At "Our Oblique Strategies," Toni Mirosevich giggled and told tales between her readings, while Mary Peelen tried her best to give the literary crowd some context for her mathematical poems. I loved every minute over it. Then, I left the library to venture into the rainy Mission District for New Poetry Mission, hosted by Sam Sax, Nic Alea and Andrew Paul Nelson. Local poets signed their names to an open mic list and read their words amidst music and cheers from the loving crowd.

The experience of reading at both was so much fun. They certainly felt different. Following the thrill of reading at the library, I had a renewed energy and a whole new delivery when I spontaneously closed the show with one of the same poems at New Poetry Mission.

My closing the show was part of an exciting announcement: I'll be the featured reader at New Poetry Mission on March 10! I'll provide details at it approaches. I'll be thinking about performance until then, though not worrying about it so much, as I remember now that it will just come naturally.

Click here for the poem I shared at both readings. Let's see how it stands without performance. Yes to words!