What 2 years of hosting Copper Courier poetry open mics has taught me

Hosting and performing poetry in this safe space has helped me process much of what has been going on in my own life, especially the death of my mother.

Last month, The Copper Courier and I hit the two-year anniversary of hosting our poetry open mics. 

That feels pretty crazy to me. I don’t think that when I first pitched the idea to Cha Cha’s Tea Lounge in the fall of 2022 that I ever thought it would last this long. 

To be fair, the original poetry night did not last this long. Cha Cha’s was taken over by Meraki Kava Bar, and then that downtown location closed for good this spring. 

But the poetry night lives on at Meraki’s north Phoenix location, where, despite its removal from the city center, we’ve built a strong community of spoken word that convenes every first Wednesday of the month. 

My open mics have always been a little different than others. When I took over the open mic at Cha Cha’s, I brought with me the same style the previous host had used: no sign-ups, and no allotted times. 

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Instead, I open the event with a few poems and go sit down, leaving the mic literally open for whoever wants to share. 

Sometimes that leads to awkward pauses and uncomfortable silence. But for the people who can sit through that, and even enjoy it, I find that this casual format pays off. 

I consider an open mic successful if at least one person comes up and says they’ve never shared poetry before, but they’re going to give it a shot. And as far as I can remember, every open mic has hit that goal—and I attribute that to the low-pressure atmosphere. 

I didn’t know what I was doing when I started hosting. I saw an opportunity to host, knew I wanted to become more involved in poetry, and jumped in. 

But I quickly realized I felt my mission was to provide a safe space for people to share their art, and with that, their emotions that may be hard to share in other ways. Phoenix has a wonderful, thriving poetry community, but much of it revolves around slam poetry and competition, which isn’t always an appealing avenue for people. I wanted to offer something that felt accessible to someone who may never have considered themselves a writer. 

Some people who come up are definitely capital “P” poets. They read beautiful words that have clearly been chosen with care and edited to become the best poem it can be. 

But others come up and read what bubbled up out of them during a difficult time in their lives, completely raw—and I love that both of those types of writing can exist in the same open mic. 

Some people have said they came to poetry night not planning to share anything—or they didn’t even know it was going on and they just happened to come in—but the environment made them feel safe enough to share. They saw other people being celebrated for their vulnerability, and it made them want to be a part of it. 

Those comments have always meant the world to me, especially because I have also hugely benefited from this community. While hosting, I have continued to write and share my own work. 

Being able to read in this safe space has helped me process much going on in my life, especially the unexpected death of my mother in 2018. 

I find myself often using my time on stage to talk about her and to share many aspects of my grief. Sometimes I read poems that are purely about the pain of her loss. Some poems reflect on happy memories I have of her. Others reflect on the complicated feelings that come after a death and navigating the anger, the depression, the loneliness. 

It’s one thing to write these poems for myself, but it’s another to read them aloud in front of a group that responds with snaps and love. 

They can be hard to share, but I know the feeling of relief that comes after reading them is worth it. And knowing I have this space to find that release helps me deal with the difficult times when grief flares up the most, especially around my mom’s birthday, Mother’s Day, and the anniversary of her passing, which is this month. 

Another unique aspect of my open mic is that I encourage people not only to read their original work, but also work of other poets or lyricists. One benefit of this is encouraging people who may not be ready to read their own writing to practice coming up to the stage and performing something else. 

But another gain is simply experiencing the work of acclaimed poets in a different way than just reading their work on a page. 

There is a wonderful group of regulars who have been coming to Meraki in the past few months who are very knowledgeable about poetry through the ages, and I love how they share other poets’ work with context and insight into the themes they were writing about. Each month, it makes me fall in love with the art form even more. 

Hearing these poems—all of the poems people share—is incredibly inspiring. I have bought books from local poets who read at Meraki and blew me away with their work. The fact that they came to my open mic and shared that breath-taking, heart-wrenching work of art? Incredible. And some poets have even been kind enough to give me their own books or zines to take home, which I have arranged in a special section on my bookshelf. 

The best thing about poetry night, I’d say, is that I almost always head home buzzing with creative energy and ideas for further writing and reading. 

These open mics have filled a creative void I didn’t realize I had developed in my life after college, and I am so grateful that I not only get to attend them, but that I get to facilitate them and make them possible for other people. 

I feel so lucky to host these poetry nights and I feel proud that, two years later, The Copper Courier and I are still making them happen. I’m excited to see where the next few years take us. 

Since Cha Cha’s closed, we’d love to return to hosting an open mic in downtown Phoenix, in addition to our current Meraki poetry night. Know of a business or space that may be interested in housing it? Let me know at [email protected].