Dear Fellow Actor
After stepping off the stage
I retire to my dressing room
And rest my feet for a minute.
While no one is looking,
I pull out the paint and the glitter
Of the next part I wish to play.
Will I be sweet tempered
And as near to pretty as my pencil can draw?
Shall I add a little lace and fuss to my costume
Or will I be neat, sensible and practical?
Is my part wearing thin
And my mask slipping a little?
Will I forget who I am meant to be
And snap at you?
I play for three audiences
Myself, the world, and you.
I spend years preparing some pieces
While others I present impromptu.
I wish the curtain would fall
And I could be alone with the real you for a minute.
Maybe, inside, you are like me;
And we could draft something worth acting,
The rehearsal and premiere
Of the world's hardest works:
Our lives.
Cecelia Hopkins, 1985
|