| To Frida Söderdahl |
There is this instant where I am thrown into the air.
I wasn’t prepared for this.
No one is,
it’s magic.
There is this instant where performers are thrown
into the audience and back into their magic.
I look at my friend
who knew voices were music
before being marked beauty.
who knew people
who dance with nothing but their toes.
And when asked why
they
are not
them
and they
are not themselves
they just have to be.
They are happiest
When lit on the spot
We are just alarm clocks
Give us our assignments
Tell us when to sound
There is this instant where the audience is thrown
onto the stage and back into their magic.
There’s music in the theatre.
I know this because I was
The audience until I was thrown
Into the air and back into their magic
I have no heart so I wasn’t worried about
The theft but it was so loud I could
Leave and still hear them in her sleep
I wish I did not love.
But I am here so I love.
I look at my friend directly
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