Our stages shuttered, we make of each other a play:
by Jessica Kadish
the proscenium the doorframe I clutch as I wait for my entrance the cue your gaze the
first line my sharp intake of breath the orchestra the rush of blood in your ears the
curtain your parted lips the microphone my throat that catches your song whose notes
reverberate all the way to the back row of me the script all those words we stitched
together and rehearsed alone they tumble out of us now unraveling gossamer costume
of desire never meant to withstand the weight of a full run but oh how it shimmers
tonight beneath the smoldering spotlight only we can see and from the hushed dark of
the balcony we whisper back to ourselves look at them can you believe how they –
and then the curtain falls, and the house lights come up, and there we are, stunned, no
flowers, no applause, but that was never the point, only this locked-down time-bound
moment, already a memory tucked beneath the boards.
Jess Kadish is an actor and writer currently living in the cornfields of Central Illinois. She's a member of Chicago's 2nd Story collective. You can hear some of her personal narrative work on their podcast.