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.