The Actor

The Actor
In Scene One, I shiver beside a vent in lollipop pajamas, alone in an antiseptic room. Strangers call me Dad and bring me macaroni; I paint the walls with a dribble and a grin. They go out again, shoes on ice, tundra in the hall; a cold north wind blows closed the sterile, numbered door. No one hears the slam; I build a fire and dance before the flames. In Scene Two, when the maid comes in to make my bed, she doesn�t notice I am dead, speaks kindly, stirs the coals. In Scene Three, we are wed; I take up Solitaire, she lights cigarettes and leans against the door, sultry in her tattered gown. Our carriage arrives each day at noon and leaves again at one; while we dream inside, the driver pretends he�s glad to be alone. He knows when not to prattle; to see the world we�re denied, my bride throws back the sash. A caravan of fools with useless limbs and empty heads. In my room a cheerful crash, as another tree goes down. In my room a soft caress, before the truth is found. In Scene Four, a knock comes at the door; it is evening now, starlight enters without a sound. I stand behind the curtain, ready to go on. *December 10, 2005* Previous Entry Next Entry Return to Songs and Letters About the Author	Main Page Author�s Note Background Notebook A Listening Thing Among the Living No Time to Cut My Hair One Hand Clapping Songs and Letters Collected Poems Early Short Stories Armenian Translations Interviews News and Reviews Highly Recommended Let�s Eat Favorite Books & Authors Useless Information Conversation E-mail & Parting Thoughts Flippantly Answered Questions
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