bitplayer
bit-player's playbill
Folder:
backburner results
"waiting in the wings"
I enter from the side door,
no one marks the hinge of my step.
The script gives me three words—
a borrowed coat, a lantern to carry,
then silence.
Others speak in thunder,
their names stitched to the playbill.
I am the pause between their lines,
the stagehand’s shadow mistaken for scenery,
the broom that clears the petals
after the lovers depart.
Yet when the curtain folds,
the boards keep their memory—
grain of wood holding
every unnoticed footfall,
as if the story were stitched
from its smallest threads.
.
