How Green Becomes Wood

Daizi sat back in her seat, twirling her straw around in her drink and listened in rapt attention to the poets. Since she had experience in venues like this before, she understood the etiquette well enough to know, first, the proper response to a poem is to snap to it, rather than clap, and sometimes she would snap her fingers during the recitation when a particular moment was especially moving. This wasn't unique to her, though, a number of other audience members did the same.
 
Ciara was not really sure what to expect, so the light music behind the spoken poetry confused her, as did the snapping, but after a while, she slowly, very slowly started to allow herself to sink into the rhythm. The first one was soft, almost gentle, a poem called, "For the Faithful." It was very deep. The next one was not as good, and the performer was clearly nervous, but they did their best. Ciara did not snap her fingers, but she did nod approvingly to the performer. They did very well. The third was another very good performer, though the poem was far angrier and delivered with far more heated energy. She did not enjoy that one at all. The one after was decent, but the performer had a cocky delivery she did not care for. Then it was time for a short break.
 
The first poem Daizi liked, and the second she was able to give grace to. Unlike Ciara, though, Daizi absolutely loved the third poem. She loved how the anger and frustration dripped out of every word of the poet. Sometimes, she felt she struggled so much with the need to play nice and be kind understanding, especially since becoming a mother, and being able to hear just true anger come out felt great. The cocky one, though, she did feel a bit put off by, mostly because the poem itself didn't seem like it had earned the cockiness behind it.

When it went on break, she turned to Ciara and asked, "What do you think so far?"
 
"It has been a fascinating experience," Ciara admitted truthfully. "I am not certain I understand some of it, but I can appreciate the intent behind a lot of it. The music united with poetry without singing is quite interesting."
 
"The first one," Ciara said without hesitation. "It was impactful and quiet with insight. The second one... he tried his best." She glanced at the menu again. "I was considering ordering the hummus plate. Would you care to share it with me?"
 
"I liked the third one," Daizi said, "I feel like anger is such a gatekept emotion. Men are so often taught it's their only acceptable negative emotion and women are taught it's completely unacceptable to be angry. I just love hearing someone just get to be raw like that."

After a moment to sit with her thoughts on the subject, she said, "Sure, I'd love to. I won't be pretentious about it, either."
 
"I suppose you may be correct with that statement. I do not find anger to be an enjoyable emotion, but I would not say I have not exercised my use of it from time to time," Ciara said calmly. She lifted a hand to catch the waitress' attention, and when she came over, Ciara ordered the hummus platter, which was a roasted red pepper hummus, made in-house, with carrots, celery, cucumber, pepperoncini, and crackers. She also asked for a refill of her drink and asked Daizi if she wanted anything else.
 
"I don't necessarily enjoy it," Daizi remarked, slowly and thoughtfully, "but I think it can be a relief to just... Let go. In a healthy way, obviously, not punching holes in walls or anything of that sort. It's a very motivating emotion, we have it for a reason. I think we do ourselves a disservice when we try to stamp it out completely just to be palatable. There's nothing I hate more than the expectation to make ourselves small and digestable." When the waitress came by, Daizi just ordered a water. She was certain she could have one more alcoholic cocktail and be fine, but she still wanted to pace herself and be responsible.
 
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