BY TARA BURKE

Hair down reaching my chest

When last it rest just below the shoulders

Not that you would notice,

Yours looks about the same and gray around the corners

 

It’s been awhile again

And though I haven’t even started packing

I haven’t even picked out my most casual costume

I can feel the nerves ringing inside of me

 

But what is the point of being nervous?

It’s not like there will be any surprises

No moves we haven’t already blocked

Two years the script has stayed the same

 

Curtains open as I’m pulled into the driveway

Staggering out with prop bags in each hand

Their weight squeezing hard against my clenched grasp I make it inside

Plopping them on the basement floor just before my strength gives out

 

The orchestra begins once I walk upstairs and into the kitchen

Finally worthy of a greeting out of your pale painted lips

With a “H-hey how are ya?”

And a “Fine fine, how about you?”

 

And on with the rest of the show

No cues to worry of missing

Just stay and play until the tots are away

Otherwise I remain on the offside

 

I’ve got my lines well memorized

Realizing it’s not the stage fright that bothers

It’s what separates my character from me

And the parts that they don’t care to see

 

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