The Urban Elf

 

May I return one day?

Bent and old

To sweep the floors

Of the hallowed hall

And the sacred spaces of making

Redolent of sawdust and paint,

Makeup and sweat,

And dreams?

May I hand out programs

And strugglingly direct supplicants and hedonists

to lettered and numbered perches,

Pilgrim's pews or thrones?

May I return?

With middle class purses held up in offering?

Or offering the currency of time

No longer spent toiling for wages?

To give the slippery hours remaining

To the cause of the muses

And maybe

Just once

Step out onto those storied boards

And read a litany of largess

Or an admonishment of flash photography?

May I return?

One last time?

To feel my swelling heart expand

As if to fill the cathedral of dreams,

Thrumming once more

With the all-consuming magic

that is Theatre?