My Life in the Theater

That cloud on the stage
is only a prop. A piano chord
sounded, leaves it floating,
suspended in resonance.

In the next act we have
to change the set, something
about a bed tossed back
and forth across an open sea.

Under the stage lies the orchestra
pit. We haven’t used it in
decades because it swallowed all
the music, and we became

accustomed to sound. Like
the curtains in the back, they’ve
been tattered for awhile,
all those exits and entrances.

We’ve been meaning to take
all the seats out, so no one
can sit. If they wanted a respite
they would have to come down

and use the stage. A sort
of participatory drama, you
may have heard of it. That’s
what the cloud is doing there.