theatre_blathing
ovenbird
I
will
be
here
all
day
--from
10
am
to
7
pm
so
my
daughter
can
dance
in
two
shows
.
I
will
keep
the
costumes
organized
and
fix
her
make
-up
and
make
sure
she
gets
a
bathroom
break
and
pin
up
her
hair
and
keep
track
of
the
complicated
schedule
and
figure
out
what
to
do
about
the
tickets
I
spilled
my
water
all
over
in
the
car
and
manage
snacks
and
ensure
she's
hydrated
and
pull
out
my
bag
of
tricks
to
deal
with
stage_fright.
I
will
sit
in
the
audience
.
I
will
clap
and
cheer
and
be
the
person
she
looks
for
at
the
end
when
she
takes
her
bow
.
In
my
velvet
upholstered seat
I
will
feel
nostalgia
sink
its
claws
into
my
thigh
and
draw
blood
.
I
will
remember
the
way
my
mom
laughed
the
loudest
in
any
audience
and
I
could
always
find
her
that
way
.
I
will
recall
the
heat
of
the
stage
lights
on
my
face
.
I
will
be
swept
into
a
memory
of
frenzied backstage
costume
changes
and
the
way
it
felt
like
I
belonged
to
something
--I
was
a
piece
of
the
story
that
played
out
on
stage
and
I
was
necessary.
The
role
I
play
now
is
invisible
. (
I
am
so
often
invisible
.)
When
the
stage
lights
go
up
,
I
will
sit
in
the
dark
, sticky
with
the
residue
of
granola
bar
wrappers,
older
than
I
feel
I
should
be
,
already
tired
at
the
beginning
of
a
long
day
,
hungry
because
I
missed
breakfast
in
the
fray
.
I
will
watch
the
spotlight
shine
on
all
these
small
faces
,
eyes
bright
with
so
much
future
.
I
will
rehearse
my
own
obsolescence.
This
is
joy
,
I
think
.
Or
this
is
grief
.
I
can
hardly
tell
the
difference
anymore
.
Everything
is
just
a
different
flavour
of
pain
and
I'm
here
to
taste
it
all
.
250622
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