backstage

I'm getting acquainted with a new theater,
it's not long before I find myself running my hands along the smooth wooden beams in the backstage
feeling the texture with my cheek
my nose
resting my forehead on the splinters and cracks made by the angry drilling of another
examining the luan
self-satisfaction that our jigsaw is at least as proficient as professionals
even if our wood does bend in funny directions sometimes.

These still bear the seal of marksmanship
the buyer's label
I make myself one with the half-built set
everyone else forgets that I'm there
I'm quiet backstage
like any good Croo Momma should be
and I'm not easily seen
if you're not looking.

No-one asks me what I'm doing when I hug the sanded edges of the two by fours to my chest
and rest my cheek along the shoulder of the one by.
The set and I are getting along just fine.