Idol Worship

I met up with some teacher friends at Casbeers this morning. Casbeers is, as of quite recently, housed in an old Catholic church in the middle of Southtown. Once a month, there' s a jazz brunch. An eight- member band named Earfood plays upstairs on the stage while the "parishioners" sip Bloody Mary's in the pews, toe-tapping and finger snapping. Two of my colleagues know Neesie, who sings for the band. She's actually a former teacher at our school. Her booming, soulful voice flows smoothly out of her petite frame, dressed in regular ol' teacher attire. Ya just never know about a person.

I didn't know until today who one of her closest friends happens to be. As we ate our brunch, Suzanne called over to a woman dressed in white linen, whose long salt and pepper hair sat loosely in a pony tail.
"Naomi! Hi!"
I don't even remember their exchange. I saw what appeared to be a nice lady smiling over at Suzanne and continued to fork my scrambled eggs.
Once this Naomi person returned to her seat, Suzanne asked me, "Do you know who that was?" as if she were passing me a wrapped present.
I assumed it was someone's mother or so-and-so's first wife, something juicy by that look she gave.
I was not prepared for what she did reveal:
"That's Naomi Nye."
I nearly choked. I'm crazy about Naomi Nye. Her poetry is real and it's alive.
I had pictured her entirely different, so I wanted to check her out in some sort of unobtrusive manner. I had the misfortune of sitting with my back to her. I must have turned just to look at her a dozen times.
She later sat two pews in front of ours and I watched her shoulders rock to the rhythm and wondered how the poet perceived this church gig. How would she describe the echoes? the stained glass windows? Neesie joked between songs that the band should sing Rutabaga-Roo, one of Naomi's songs for kids.
Oh, there was a poet in our midst! I was star-stricken! Ultimately, I failed to introduce myself, afraid that words would fail me as I stood before the poet Naomi Shihab Nye.
I know someone who knows someone who knows Naomi Nye. That's good enough... for now.

Hidden
By Naomi Shihab Nye


If you place a fern
under a stone
the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone has
swallowed it.
If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.
No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.