Tragic Point of View

To watch your wife die on stage

can be a harrowing experience

where the suspension of disbelief

can be suspended in time.

“I’m dying”

She screamed

as I sat, wedged in between strangers,

no one to comfort my unreal sorrowful

inner-soliloquy

of what I would do if this were true.

She looks so real, so clear, so convincing

that I begin to feel the emptiness

of life without her,

looking at death

through the pit of my stomach,

through the eyes of our boys

through a lens with the cap on.

She dies and the lights go down.

 

Intermission (I go outside and breathe)

 

The lights come up,

her bed is empty.

I know she is sitting backstage somewhere

siting quietly

maybe eating

or drinking tea.

She can hear the dialogue just as I can,

but she has moved on

to her next lines, her next entrance.

I can only think of her exit in Act I

and how I don’t want to live without her,

how bright and beautiful she is.

How relieved I am when she bows to the audience.

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One thought on “Tragic Point of View

  1. Wow. This really reached out.

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