The Stage
The wings – Material –
The boards – The wood –
My shadow is held offstage
Until the walk under light.
And somewhere between the shafts
Of dust, will also
Hang the rogation;
A fragile curtain of skin.
But when only the vents are on,
This vessel – This place –
Smells of expectation;
A sterile prostrate space.
by Suzanne Bronson on Friday, September 26, 2008