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This one act play was written on a paper plate. |
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To you I say hello. Survive one more year, and in your will leave me each speck of dust on your shelves. In your room is a galaxy of dust made of skin. I will breathe your remains.
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This, Too, Will Be Lived
Noah Simring 12/08/05
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I want my mother to know She gets closer every hour. The desk is covered with pages, and for months, collecting a house full. I turn the room over, and every corner is shone with night lights The host is scattered and white, pieces of looseleaf torn years ago And on them scribbled numbers, names, More often than not underneath a calculator, a watch, a wire, Under a fork, a letter, a box, all once strewn on top of a desk. These are all saved; found in disorder. Things that have not been used, or Broken things with missing parts. They can see inside the open blinds, and while it is calming to be behind the window covers, I long for a traveler to point up here, Wave to whoever doesn’t know, and Tell them. Tell them I am awake in a room open to the winter. Brought in with subtle strength. The door squeaks, they can hear me from inside, And they know. I look for hours (I’ll tell you some day), How days with open windows never end. The impatient will rest, and the good smell of young grass and morning wet, They are here with you. Tell them how much I will miss her Come from the southwest and pass through this dust. Clear this air, drift out this smoke. Tell them what she said, and how long the hours were. Tell them I love them too, And tell them what is between the blinds. Please, wind, blow in my favor this night, Move through like a ghost Before the snow melts, a calming soot to ease this worry. But the wind’s answer blows through the city, No! From uptown instead, and smoke fills the room Swirling backwards with the gust And it is steady and certain. In, in, in, the room is frozen. One more breath, for the one who is missing, Another, for the one who will leave, And for the friend who I loved— one long breath to be held until the air is finished. The room swims in air, dragging cold through burning leaves Through the windows, the room flitters with northern breath This air passed where she slept, through a room, and through rooms where people sleep, And over closed eyes, a piece of her last laugh dances with the stubborn autumn’s twisting air Breathed… in… and out… and now scattering. I want my mother to know This, too, will pass Through people who sleep, through lungs, and trees, through rooms, through winter, summer, silent and see-through This, too, will be lived
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The Place Where We Might Meet
12/19/05 Noah Simring
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under the cabinets
between the wires
The blinds quiver with the breeze
And in the light, a million stars
Some small and round, some long and thin
Slide through the room like a galaxy
I see her in the shadows
Waiting for something
And from wall to wall
Across the long shade outside the door
I watch them move and walk
She is there, across the room
I hear her move
And by this wall
I collect dust, with hope and wide eyes
There, the door, she is here now
Just a single shadow
If only once
a trip through the chairs
Ended with a conversation
These shadows might bear a warmth
Of the afternoon sunlight
Half-way across the earth
And still
I collect dust
Between the walls behind chairs
Where the light from dim bulbs
Crosses the place where we might meet
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