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If I loved you in a forest
And no one heard me not even you Was it real? Was it real like timeandspace-- A quantum suggestion, Nature's mild mantra? I steer my Scrabble tiles around the board until they say all my real words, Tell the long story of how we met and the smell of your damp sweater sleeve rising and falling, growing hot and cold on my shoulder. But you leave before the game is over And now no one can win or lose. All these words splinter into nameless neutered toy letters, tumble down the slick sides of a bended board, slink back into their velvet pouch, back into the cardboard coffin, up on a shelf in the closet where no one will look. Certainly not you. Was it real? Did it take up time and space Cast a bright shadow Ripple through still ponds of nothing? Some government agency must retain a copy of the birth certificate of my love Smashed sloppily in a weary file folder, Time and date crusted over by the passage of too much time and too many dates. What? No witness signature? But that's just it. Let it go, they say. Move on. But where does old love go to die? Does it wither in spurts, waxing feisty and manic, roaring demands at the racing wind? Or walk the lonely city streets, gradually fading among the younger faces until breath becomes vapor and footprints, dust.
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Auditions are now open for the Strangers' Coughing Chorus at your neighborhood auditorium. Seeking a harmonious balance of voices in the following ranges: pneumonia bark, grandma gargle, scoffing cough (minor disapproval), inhaled a bug, crackle jack, wheezy sneeze, blarf.
We also need a small but mighty cough drop ensemble who can rummage through purses, unwrap cough drops, drop them on the floor, chase them down the aisles, rattle them against teeth, spit them onto the laps of audience members, and then phase into the Coughing Chorus at full volume. Performances at each and every event from now until eternity! |
AuthorMy name is Nasreen Yazdani. Archives
February 2022
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