Lament of the Bird

by Lisa Cole

Sneaking wine coolers
And beer cans
Into the theatre
After a day of sobbing into a pillow.
Stifling screams, dreams, seams splitting.
Seems to be a habit, this.

The bird
Preens
Herself.

So, the truth,
the theatre: black, clandestine
Guzzle drinking cold.
And she goes.

Would rather be back in dressing rooms,
The closet, the bedrooms, door frames, showers,
Kama Sutra
De-
Lusions.

But instead, flashing lights, pictures
un-
Familiar voices, stained seats,
Moving, moving.

More darkness, darkness.