the well of tears

She stands on a black box stage and squints her eyes in the spotlight. She is the fourth performer at the school talent show. She arrived just two months ago and was placed in second grade. Now she waits for the music to start. The school hall has chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, dark red velvet curtains covering the tall thin windows, yet the stage is undecorated and the wooden floors squeak and chairs cry for a new upholstery. For her it doesn't matter. She starts slowly tapping her foot, holds the microphone tightly with one hand and rubs her earlobe with the other. The first words timidly enter the room. Her voice gathers strength and the audience is spellbound. She lets go of her ear and relaxes a bit. Suddenly her mouth closes and eyes start searching for support. Everyone holds breath. She lets down the hand with the microphone and stands still looking at the audience. The music still plays and no one dares to say or do anything. She turns and walks over tho the DJ. People can't hear but can see her mouthing: "I know the words. I will do it again. Start over. I know the words. I know." The music stops. She walks back to the center of the stage, lifts her microphone and starts tapping her foot again. A wave of relief rolls over the audience. She sings.

I listen.

I let go of the words that hurt me in the morning.

I let go of the stress of the work undone.

I let go of the worries of the meetings tomorrow.

I let go of the regret I stayed in town after school.

I listen.

The beauty and the pain, the sadness and the joy of the world are all there, in the music. My heart swells and warm streams flow down my cheeks.