WendyFeb2019

On stage Macon, 9 February 2019

A word said

Wiped the screen

Fell short of expectations

Misunderstood, fell on deaf ears

Or blustered now into

An uncomfortable silence

Settled in, spectators stared.

She looked askance,

Rung her hands, searched some more

Macbeth so near, Ophelia drowning

Loose words clinging to the boards

Dry curtains blowing in the breeze

Other actors in full swing

Masters of their art, in costume

In play, and she, she slipped further

In despair. What had she said?

What had she fumbled, that could

Not be read, retreated or reacted?

She thought again, beseeched,

Begged, her pride all spent,

Her alarm increasing. Should she flash,

Pull forth her dagger, her wit,

Her last resort? Calm now gone

A slow burning anger began

To fuse, rippled her ribs, released

Her vocals, her memory,

One last line, the best,

Reset.

Outside, so far away

Cold white polar bear

Clung to ice, pawed the

Snow, pawed his cub

Would be break, would he crack,

Crunch his neck?

Or go on searching?

His stage reduced to

These crumbling crystals

Of a hotter world.