this seems weirdly enthusiastic - to make my way to the other side of town on my first night with crutches. It's about clinging stubbornly to an identity I've made for myself in London, that I could get on stage and read a poem and ok. The most terrifying thing - made far more terrifying by walking on sticks. It's enough just to get on stage and I mess up a bit.
Worth it to hear all the other poems and above that to hear the music - a scandinavian singer I haven't heard before and songs I have heard before which are always beautiful.
Then everything falls apart a bit. My resolve to be independent dissolves when I'm offered help but it all feels too much. As if I've intruded on people too much. Made myself so high profile that I won't be able to go back until my foot has healed.
On the other hand this is enough beauty to store up against the days ahead.
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