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| Image courtesy of Artnet/Henry Patrick Raleigh, Theater Dressing Room |
Before the Parade Passes By
I hurried into the small
basement room
and began unbuttoning
the elaborate buttons
on my pale lavender jacket.
By the time
I made it across the room
to the scarred wooden chair
by the red-bricked wall,
I was already undoing
the fasteners
on my skirt.
Standing in front
of the mirror
I watched myself drape
the skirt and jacket
over the chair’s back.
Inhibitions,
shed at the door
like my pale lavender jacket
with its elaborate buttons
and the matching skirt
were never a key point,
and besides,
no one else n the room
seemed to care, anyway.
I stepped into
a violent array
of spangles and bright colors,
adjusting myself
as needed
(and it was needed)
and then gave one final
appraising look
in the mirror,
before dashing
back out of the room.
Behind the heavy curtains
I waited for my cue.
###
Process notes: Years ago, I was in a production of Hello Dolly! During the course of each performance, I had to make a quick change from my 'street clothes' costume (an elegant suit apropos of the Gilded Age) into a spangly showgirl costume in order to appear on the float for the 'Before the Parade Passes By' musical number. (Then, after the number - just as quickly - I had to change back again.)
This narrative poem was written in response to two prompts: Big Tent Poetry's 'write about getting dressed somewhere other than a bedroom or a bathroom,' and Poetry Tow Truck's 'write about something common, like Sylvia Plath's mirror.'
