B e h i n d    t h e    c u r t a i n

are    props.

 

Scales,

    pencils

         tie dyed

colors

  d a n c i n g

on objects,

              objects

    used  on

               stage.

But never

                               center.

 

Before the curtain,

a girl

     holds them

uses them

              speaks the lines

prerehearsed

       but never

adlibs.

 

The props

    only show,

like the peek

        of the curtains

after they're closed

                lasting

playing

      existing

on stage

    for

                minutes-

never

                                center.

 

There's a mask

            half smile

half frown

        with painted on

   tears

that gathers

       dust

in the props'

grave

            in the stage's

grave

          behind the curtains

and in

   my

                real

   grave.

 

B e h i n d   m y   c u r t a i n,

      is where

          the magic's

                     created

                          it's where

             the pieces

     come

together;

         it's where

the play

                                      ends