weeks of intense labor
times she cried out
to Poem in her soul’s womb
pleading for this very day
she’ll step out as from behind a curtain
to applause
doesn’t mean to upstage Poem,
born without words, she speaks for her
goes go on & on to an audience
transfixed by this aging ingénue
they eventually tire of and
sensing it, abruptly throws out
a piece of her life, as if Poem
wasn’t there, tantalizing them
just enough to want more
and goes back to Poem.
This is her night after all. Whose night?
She smiles and throws out another juicy tidbit,
just short of naked, thanks people
for coming to meet Poem
she holds close, like a mother clinging
to a teddy bear, who’d been told
her child was still born
