Philadelphia, P.A.

So we ended the evening on Tuesday dancing in our pajamas to Motown in Maria's bedroom, our stockinged feet sliding on the slick hardwood floor, moonlight shining in the window, shaking our hips and laughing with the sheer goodness of everything. The next morning we would part this small version of our Sisters tribe: Maria Papacostaki, her partner Terry, Elenna Rubin Goodman, Riva Danzig, Jean and I. But it wasn't time just yet. Earlier in the evening, Jean had stood before the wonderful crowd at the Big Blue Marble Cafe and charmed everyone by saying she'd never been to Philadelphia before but knew it from the famous Motown song: "Philadelphia, P.A., everyday, we're dancin' in the streets..." and she shook her hips as she danced the little tune and the audience knew they were in the hands of a pro. She opened with "Prayer for My Mother (at 83 Years Old)" -- and what I notice as we travel around and some pieces are read more than once, is how a poem changes, opens and expands. There is no other word for it. Sometimes a poem is fated to be read: it is as if it darts through the air like Cupid's arrow and claims its prey.

It was a spectacular opening to a wonderful night. Afterwards Terry said it had the same feel as the reading on November 8 in Santa Cruz, though the similarities were probably not apparent at first. We were in the upper floor of a small Victorian brick building, with stairs that creaked so that we always knew when a newcomer was coming in a bit late. Forty people crowded around, filled the chairs, and ended up sitting on the steps, sipping tea from the little cafe counter in the back. It was connected, intimate, down-home, and sweet. Quite different from the stage and lights and mike in New York City; but the same at essence–we were, yet again, held within a number of interlinking circles, so that women came in and grinned huge to see each other from various circles and tribes. Others arrived completely fresh: one lovely woman right in the front told me she'd seen the flyer we posted at the High Point Cafe across the street just the day before. Colleagues and friends and sisters and partners all sat with us, listening to the Sisters sing.

Yes, the sisters. As we travel, what I love and admire and did not know to expect is the wonderful way the tribe expands to include all who cross into our world. At the end of each evening, we are all sisters. We have traveled a path of poetry and song together and our souls shine. Elenna, staying with her relatives in New York, had taken the train to Philadelphia the evening before, and when she rose to read she commented that this evening in particular there was less of a distinction between reader and audience. Everyone there shone with some great gift of spirit and grace, and, crowded as we were into the small second-story space, we were rather like Jean's poem "We Must Insist", leaning into each other, arm over arm, head tilted, listening. Yes.

Maria read a poem in memory of a friend who died just months ago who was beloved to many in that Mt. Airy neighborhood, and standing before us it was as if all the poems took substance and held together, embodied in the room. Riva, reading this time her poem "Sacred Things" and then a second poem of new love.

Love. That was the only word for Rayyanna Shah, who was with us that night, twelve years old, reading her wonderful poetry–and also poems by her mother. Rayyanna is a seventh grader at Al-Aqsa Islamic Academy; an accomplished poet and artist and also a devoted cook, learning recipes handed down by her mother and grandmother from Africa. Rayyanna's beautiful mother was with us, and as I gifted her with a copy of Sisters Singing, she took the book in her hands and said, This is so needed. Women have so much to offer. I will take it home and read, page by page...

Good people, everywhere. Rayyanna is part of the We the Poets program of Philadelphia's Arts & Spirituality Program--and the idea to have them as part of the reading came from beloved Lawrie Hartt. Cathy Cohen, who runs the We the Poets program, spoke of their work to hold a space for shared poetry among young people of various faiths. How luscious it was to hear Cathy and Fatima James read their student's work–some written by African-American students about the election of President Obama, this new world we have entered, in which we now stand. Yes.

And in between, there was music everywhere. The amazing Jackie Curren, who is Artistic Director of the Anna Crusis Women's Choir -- led us to sing. She'd brought xeroxed songs from Sisters Singing and we had them before us for several rounds of pure, easy song. And again we were in the hands of a wise woman, leading us with her pure voice and good heart... there is something about singing that holds the soul and binds a circle. Yes.

By the time we had journeyed through the evening to Jean ending with "We Must Insist", we had found that insistence within ourselves: we knew together that there is a way to live that re-visions everything...commerce and money (picture Riva blessing the small cash we handed over at the Indian restaurant before the reading), poetry and song (as We the Poets and Sisters Singing publish our own works of creative spirituality independently), selling books (the old-fashioned way, circle to circle, hand to hand, word of mouth and fingers, touching).

How lovely to sign books and talk to everyone afterwards, that sweet buzz of friendliness and gratitude held by all, Maleka Fruen of Big Blue Marble Bookstore saying she loved the evening and that several staff members of the store have become enthused with our book. I remember the staff member Claudia, who we happened to meet when we visited the store on Sunday, saying her sister was coming in from Germany that day, just in time to join us for the reading. How lovely to see Claudia and her sister there on Tuesday night, meeting each other's eyes and grinning, as I read about sistering, and it was clear they knew something of what I spoke.

Yes. How can I say anything but yes? We have a book and we have a tribe and we have a community of sisters which is wide and expansive and includes women and men and children and all who become part of this generous net. Welcome. Welcome. And afterwards we drove home across town and pour drinks and eat left-over Indian food, ravenous again, laughing and comparing notes and telling tales. We were all sleeping at Maria and Terry's house before relinquishing each other in the morning. But no one was putting their head to the pillow yet. There were toasts and blessings around the table, that true sharing of wise women. Then finally it was time for bed, time to change and lay ourselves down, but suddenly instead we'd pulled out the laptop and clicked on the iTunes. Let's finish what Jean started, all those hours before.

It doesn't matter
what you wear
just as long as you are there...
All we need is music, sweet music,
there will be music everywhere...