I am the only actor. <br />It is difficult for one woman <br />to act out a whole play. <br />The play is my life, <br />my solo act. <br />My running after the hands <br />and never catching up. <br />(The hands are out of sight - <br />that is, offstage.) <br />All I am doing onstage is running, <br />running to keep up, <br />but never making it. <br /> <br />Suddenly I stop running. <br />(This moves the plot along a bit.) <br />I give speeches, hundreds, <br />all prayers, all soliloquies. <br />I say absurd things like: <br />egss must not quarrel with stones <br />or, keep your broken arm inside your sleeve <br />or, I am standing upright <br />but my shadow is crooked. <br />And such and such. <br />Many boos. Many boos. <br /> <br />Despite that I go on to the last lines: <br />To be without God is to be a snake <br />who wants to swallow an elephant. <br />The curtain falls. <br />The audience rushes out. <br />It was a bad performance. <br />That’s because I’m the only actor <br />and there are few humans whose lives <br />will make an interesting play. <br />Don’t you agree? <br /> <br /> <br />Anonymous submission.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-play-8/
