Friday, August 26, 2011

The Part She was Supposed to Play

She wakes up on stage
Disembodied, alone
Is this the definition of empty?
Corner to corner, bare
Vacated, both sides of the proscenium

She thinks back
To her mother's pantry
Jars, lids recently misplaced, broken
She and Junie tried to lick the insides
Tongues searching for some cool sweetness

Or sour grape
Not long enough, agile or acrobatic
To reach those cracks, corners
Laughing into the glass
Short echo from the shallow chasms

Do you feel so full of something
The part you were supposed to get
Your lines, your turn to speak
Shine? You are a good partner
Lover, friend

She is not acting
Still, no one to speak the other lines
No props, set or audience
Plays her part like a teenager
Singing her song in the mirror

Is she in the wrong play?
This plane to New York, Broadway?
Her words reach
Toward the hall's edges
A brief echo, she smiles nectar

And decides who she will be, today.

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