Set the Stage
She begins
to set the stage;
to lay out the things
she thinks I'll need
to complete this act
after she exits,
leaving the spotlight
for me.
Uncomfortable
with that stillness,
with her lack of
resistance to time.
I whisper, "I know,"
but even now,
I really don't.
Countless hours spent
preparing myself,
imagining the blunt edges
of that morning or evening
that is, I pray, so far in the future
that I shouldn't be thinking of it yet.
At 26, I could shave off the two.
I am still learning the basics.
Still alternating between
crawling and walking;
between soaring and falling.
I still need this hand to hold.
How can she be leaving?
Certain moments are aglow,
and I see then that I can survive,
even alone.
But there are still dark patches
and painful pieces I can't fix.
That contrast builds the scene,
and its stark blacks and whites
are surprisingly and unbelievably
lovely.
She taps my shoulder;
reminds me of something
that she has just learned herself—
No one wants to
hear the highlights
without the crashing lows.
I'm grateful
and growing
as she takes a bow.
