(Yes, I have tricks in my pocket, I have things up my sleeve. 

But I am the opposite of a stage magician. 

He gives you illusion that has the appearance of truth. 

I give you truth in the pleasant disguise of illusion”) 

― Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

 

The Sisters Remember

 

My sister’s dream began on a hillside.

Having no idea where she was

she stumbled through a black forest,

caught her lace nightgown on a dead branch,

came to an open field of weeds.

 

Barefoot and alone

she walked forever under cloudy skies,

jumping over mud holes and daubers,

scanning the distance for anyone alive.

Suddenly visible stood a barren stage.

 

She hesitated at the strangeness

but had nowhere else to go.

As she approached the wooden scaffold

she noticed several rows of velvet chairs

unoccupied, but waiting.

She sat first row, front-center.

 

On the stage were also chairs

An array of golden benches

seemingly strung together by rope,

empty and alert.

All at once out of the curtained wings 

the actors came forward.

 

Each one bowed before sitting,

saluting my sister. 

Each one was someone she knew.

Each actor a departed luminary

who bought their light to the stage,

who acted out the play book

of timeline characters

and tragic goodbyes.

 

There are no goodbyes.

The troupe on stage was whole

and accounted for,

soul-beings of her glorious past.

The director’s light entered the arena

just as my sister stood up to leap forward

the curtain fell