Gerard Gauci Scene from “Armide” at the Palace of Versailles
Image courtesy of operaatelier.com
I’ll always be part of an audience—
not the worst crowd to melt in,
though observers are often portrayed
as distant, uninvolved.
I, too, am an observer.
I watch the plot thicken and flare
up toward denouement, and I mirror
the actors’ emotions with my own
quietly smoldering thoughts.
When the play ends, I go home
to a house I care to be in
less than that place I inhabited
for a little over an hour or two and felt
I somehow belonged.
When the play ends, I keep
my face on, clutching underneath
embers of what I have seen,
the way a still lake seizes within
things people carelessly discard:
bits of conversations,
a pair of old boots,
a rusty knife, the broken
frame of a window.
Prompt courtesy of dVerse, where Lilian hosted Tuesday Poetics last night, inviting contributions on this beguiling topic: Opposites Attract, Or Do They?