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poetry

The Greenroom

There’s no place like the greenroom.

There’s no place to sit

There’s no place to stand

We’re packed in

Touching hand to hand

I grab a chair and listen above

Hearing the chatter of the audience I love

While a fairy does her makeup

And the queen laughs with the men in black

Who stay back

To make sure we shine

And the hour is mine

There’s no place like the stage.

And the rushing and pounding rage

My heart goes into every time I take my place

Every time I stood with painted face

I remember my makeup man’s smile

And my mother’s proud grin

I remember the laughter of the crowd

And the music’s little spin

There’s no place where the air is thick with art

And the words we recite live in our heart

There’s no place where even empty rooms are filled to the brim

There’s no way to make that audience applause dim

Because there’s no place like the greenroom.

The home of the actors.

The home of the performers.

The home of the stagehands.

The home in my heart.

***

I’ve mentioned a greenroom in several of my poems (shared or otherwise), because the setting marks the beginning and end to a chapter in my life. A chapter that made me grow and adapt as a human being, and a chapter that I both cherish and loathe. I will always remember my time backstage and on stage, and the lovely people I met. I couldn’t describe accurately the feeling of either, yet I try through rhyming word. Enjoy.