Ghost Light

Louis Heon, "Sentinelle de théâtre," 2012

The old music falls away, and the lights don’t
come up—they dim. The rope that holds the
counterweight to tiers of crushed red velvet
curtains frays, worrying as it does against a
roughened spot on the tie-down. There’s no
one on the catwalk to change night into day,
blue gel for gold. The actors—were there ever
any actors? I can’t remember. And without
cue cards or whispered prompts, all that’s
left for me to do is to stand and wait quietly
in the thin wavering moonbeam of a ghost
light, hoping some passer-by will tug the stage
door open and help me find my way outside.