Applause in darkness,
heaving out of the open wound;
her eyes flickering,
and never sure if it was her
or more.
They remembered
when dust from costumes
smelt new,
remembered mornings
spent in murmured repetition.
She remembers silence,
building; scarcely bearable,
and broken by a whisper.
And the silence that
insinuates itself between
the curtain and applause.
On boards
worn smooth by business,
torn lines and
face towards the night;
whines and wheedles,
struts, sluts, clowns, dies.
She never died.
They wove in lights and
painted streets
repeated lifetimes;
age or youth was
immaterial. She
stepped across, was
swallowed by an amputation
sucking down her
loss, unnoticed,
unapplauded.