The Show Goes On, Or To The Actors From The Stage Manager Poem by Heidi K. Haskell

I see you there
Or at least I think I can -
Intentionally vivisectified
By your own hand
All laid bare
Nerves raw, exposed
But you're strangely electrified,
Both askew and composed.
Heart, mind, soul opened wide,
Spilling over, pouring out all
Of yourself into one bit of time
A nanosec where all your atoms call
In one voice across the divide
To try to move the spirit of another human being.
How brave you are! And I just watch. I'm
Loving every moment that I'm seeing,
Especially knowing
That there is bravery and Bravery.
The first is going out in the lights,
Regardless if your voice is getting wavery
Or your underwear is showing
Or it hurts to walk or breathe or dance
Because something in your soul ignites
And illuminates, if given half the chance.
The other Bravery I've seen as well -
And I don't think it's my imagination -
The strength to go on with the show, and with life
With pieces of your soul in tribulation -
Those parts of you that have been through Hell
You now hold in psychological traction
Like shards of crystal, bringing further strife
When you touch them - stabbing, slicing with every little action.
You do not move them; you do not touch.
You let them lie. You put on your dancing shoes.
Yet there beneath the footwork and the paint
They seep through, like a spiritual bruise.
That's what makes me love you so much
And breaks my heart a little while I look on:
You're brave, and Brave, and I ain't.
That you may tie to, and make book on!
Would that I could find the ones
Who broke you, who shattered so serenely.
Better still that I could heal your hurts
With bandages and vicodin, neatly and cleanly.
But when all's said and done,
I must content myself with small movements -
Fetch some water, give a line, pick up shirts -
Hoping to ease you, to help you with minor improvements.
For your show goes on anyways
Through storms of life you brazenly embark.
To be sure, we all have scars,
But most prefer to hide them in the dark.
But scene after scene after show after act after play
Of all the critics, you're your own worst.
You serve slice after slice of who you are
Delicately sauteed and rehearsed.
So where does that leave us?
We do what we can to survive.
You out there, laying it all on the line,
Me in the shadows. But all of us alive -
Despite all the triumphs, the flops, and the fuss.
By turns we're all heroes, clowns, villains. Who knows
The future? But our lives ever intertwine
So the show still goes on, even after we close.