An Act of Love
Not an act, I’m told, more a leave to live
where words have no leverage—I’ve a pile
of words. It was useful to hear actors
talk shop about how one doesn’t just act
but live the role—a trick into feeling
what doesn’t need said. I watch a cast now
from this seat next to no one asking me
what was said like these two do, one row up.
Once home, they’ll unwrap each other’s bow-tied
necks; mouths agape, marvel over their spoils
as if for the first time. Look at the way
one lowers the other’s mask, levies a kiss,
then worries back its curl over the usher
-hushed laugh, each needling the other to live.
Copyright © 2023 by Tommye Blount. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 15, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.