Do Not Sham Convulsions

It's been six months since fastening the veil
Around my eyes for my inaugural
Run - grasping in futility for one
Last glance through the windows. I wanted it
To play out like a film, so fantasy
Could sink its subtle hooks into your skin -
No handkerchief train station ending for us.

What were you thinking when you scraped that broom
Across my face? Attention to the rules?
The only scene that forced me to collapse
That night played out backstage. But no one helped
Me stand again. Did your eyes see me fall?
Still I sat in summer, pondering

The distance over chamomile tea;
The style of my hair; the teeth in my mouth -
Everything. Readjustment forced upon
Myself inside a gray basement bedroom
With just one window punching through the wall,
Where weather was always the same.

"Sobriety's your enemy," you told
Me once, straight-faced. I now perhaps agree.