ACTING, METHOD

Once, on stage, a boy became
My Father. I knelt before him
And he placed two fish bones

On my tongue. Rank, delicate
Little bones. Our blue skyline

Rustled. Two choirboys, each
On a white cloud, rode by me
Laughing & jerking overhead.

It was a beautiful age to learn
Pain. One could walk, sunsets,

In orange pastures, venting to
One's boring donkey. Gazing
So often into the black mouth

Of a well—one was forced to
Consider Death. Three priests

Started (stage left) to feed me
Lines. His body is home now.
His body is at home, I said &

Munched those little bones to
Sand. My Father stared down

Repulsed or stunned or afraid.
In rolled a backdrop of purple
Mountains. Then a single girl,

In a red tutu, spinning around
Like a small, overzealous fire.