Sometimes I miss it
the calm assurance of nothing
the freedom of being whomever
of reading the lines for the character I'd scripted
the beauty of acting and the innocent
hope that the fairy tale would come true
and that there could be proven some
veracity to the adage that opposites attract
from moonlit backyard fast-food picnics
with one heart in earnest
the other in playful mockery of it
Well intentioned phone calls
Playing kickball with children in a hedge
Lying in the dark, hoping, praying for
a spoken kinship of heart that would never come
Sometimes I miss it
Most of the time I don't.
Fall 1996
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