Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
At first, the poet looks like all the other men at the table. He turns toward the PowerPoint slide of the painting that the panel was meant to discuss. The audience waits to see what the famous poet thinks of it, to compare his impressions against their own. They wait to be bolstered, to be humbled. The poet talks about Europe instead. He talks about himself. The audience waits for him to share their impression–until the moderator interrupts.
As the moderator rambles on and on, the poet goes quiet with polite and perturbed silence. Then he scans the crowd for a moment, then he begins to play with his pen. He drags it in loops across his notebook on the table, obscured by his water glass and a pitcher as well.
Glory me. Is he writing? Is the poet writing now? In front of everyone? And the spectators stop looking at the slides, stop listening to the moderator, and escape into a quiet panic. Later they may hunt for their shadows in the new work of this obviously perceptive author.
Glory me. What if we are entering a poem at this very moment…?