A Stage Burden

A true stage is never empty

by law it must be full

ghost and memoirs do gather

as if by a silent pull

In the shop hangs portraits

eerily displaying actors of the past

and the fancy paint-stained

furniture used in the play before last

The prop room is lined with

boxes full of muss and decay

each treasured in some old show

before their paint chipped away

The costume room needs some

more storage to say the very least

with enough petticoats and button

downs to make a moth queen’s feast

The make-up room is always

is a mess of bobby pins galore

blusher, eye-shadow, creams,

and baby wipes by the score

the booth in back stands

just a bit more pristine

dutifully guarded over by

our beloved techie team

The catwalk is clearly dusty and

just a little too high in the air

and the heavy things stored up

there always gives me a scare

The west corner of the black box

is where we sew the clothes

but how the machines still work

no seamstress really knows

the storage room has food of

which there never seems is enough

we try to keep it stocked but

as tummies rumble, it’s gets tough

But I can see the stage

itself is really where it’s at

and standing in the center

I can’t help but tip my hat

I know the all shows in here

I’ve seen them come and gone

I have played my part in some

although mostly as a smiling pawn

yes ma’am, I’ve painted some sets

and occasionally hung the lights

and I am the one who leaves last

after rehearsals most of the nights

Yes ma’am, I will continue to

rip up your messy seams

and cheer on the children

who are chasing their dreams

Because a stage is never empty

it needs people like you and me

who always feel the silent pull

a burden that comes all too free