No, not yet;
I’m still bowing low to flowers heavily rained
and tears swelling like a stream of applause
at my feet, still cracked from standing impromptus
upon the most genuine parchedness ever staged.
I’m still costumed in my nakedness
and my face is raw from wearing itself.
But the curtain will fall with the grace of dust
lifting in the afterglow of dimmed spotlights;
and my fingertips will rub out the last smears
of no make up at all from the farce that never was.
Then, yes;
The public image will step out and onto the papers
in high resolution; and, after the credits (that nobody
ever reads, anyway) the critique:
“Great performance!
She’s a natural!”
And, further down the lines of bravos,
my disclaimer:
“I reflect but myself, fiction of a character;
any me, between the resemblance
and the frame, is mere truth – deliberate.”
(That, like any disclaimer, nobody ever reads,
anyway.)
-- Poem and Picture © 2008 by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®
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This is so cleverly written. I love the theatre and your poem really brings it to life, not only as we know it but behind the scenes as well.
Muitos Beijinhos,
Joseph
Georg
" ... and my face is raw from wearing itself ...." WOW
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Fee