Pre-Show

They spoke to me of stage fright--
that mouth-drying paralytic, that bane
of the would-be thespian.
"Don't drop lines. And if you forget,
just remember we all forget sometimes.
Just keep moving."

But it's not stage fright in my belly.
That windstorm of butterflies is composed of
other emotions entirely: impatience predominant,
the minutes until the manager calls "places!" ticking
so
slowly,
the minutes until the lights come up and I launch into
the speeches I've learned for two months, until
we move in the dance of theater, bringing another world,
another era,
to life for our living audience, who is taking far too long to sit.
And other emotions: eagerness, a tinge of fear--
I've never done this before. I don't think I'll mess up, but
what if?
Jitters, caused partly by my terrified analysis of my own state:
tell me I won't freeze up when the lights come up.

And then the magic word: "Places!"
Pitch dark, save for the glow-in-the-dark X taped to my first mark.
I step to it, listening to my fellow actors rustle to their own places,
still waiting, running through the opening lines in my head now.
And then
lights.