standing at the edge
at curtain call

I am lifted—

by the rhythmic acclamation

Connected hands hold me up,
we bow at last

the pounding applause roars
echoing in the theater—
a dome

acknowledging the journey we took
laughing at the funnies,
sighing at tiny romances,
crying for the heartaches

I stand at the edge—

bright lights fill my eyes,
almost blinding me
I catch a glimpse of the first few rows

smiling back; again, I bow; this time alone—

The heavy red curtain—velvet
lingers overhead briefly
before eloquently closing the night
closing the world where I spent exhausting hours as an artist


then, exit stage left



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