A small moment on screen.
A twitch of my lips.
Surprising, when a real world desire
Sees itself fulfilled in fantasy.
Amid the mayhem of choreography
The melodrama of suspense and mystery,
A single, small moment lands hardest.
A kiss, filled with chemistry,
Reaches out and plants on my own lips
A realization that I am alone.
And in the miniscule aftershock,
When blood pours into my lips until they are full,
I see the curtain settled firmly
Between the reality and the creation.
It is an aching minute of meta-consciousness,
Observing the self observing the unreal
Wishing to rend the curtain
Knowing such wishes are childish.
Thankfully the moment passes, as all do,
With a knockout punch and a flurry of bullets,
A gentle reminder that my life on the couch
Is not as bad as all that.
The exercise was simple:
Walk around the room.
I take direction well.
I needed direction today.
Walk, walk, walk.
I’m amazing at this game.
“Switch direction!” calls Dave.
Thank God listlessness looks like spontaneity.
I can make aimless look daring.
I walk in rhombus.
I walk in parallelogram.
I walk in crescents.
“Now do something else!
Be free! Explore the space!
Crawl! Skip! Jump!”
My mind is a blank slate.
Walk, walk, walk.
Around in trapezoids I move
Trying to think of something to do,
Something that isn’t walking.
But my sense of play is gone.
I have no desire to do anything.
I’m barely doing the basic rule.
I’m barely walking.
Inside I’m huddled in the corner
Under the dance bar, next to the mirror,
Angrily staring at the other movers
Who merrily prance or roll or twirl,
Who have thought of things to do
Other than walk, walk, walk.
So, full of obedience and fear,
I do the only thing an actress
In crisis can do –
I walk, walk, with purpose and gusto
with charisma and direction,
Right out the door,
For a breather.