The Man in the Front-Row Seat
By: Joy Ortiz
Writer who penned my days,
Maker of the book,
All-seer, All-knower,
The plot thickens.
Here I crouch,
Mid-scene,
Waiting for my next line.
You sit back
In your front row seat
With folded arms
And a half-smile.
You've come to watch me
Perform on this stage
My fan fiction,
My little play,
My take on the masterpiece.
An amateur,
A child,
A girl,
A woman
I am
Shifting through these scenes,
Guided by a story
Older than dust.
As my clumsy play unfolds,
You are ever before my eyes.
Am I doing justice to the book?
Will its author be pleased?
Ah, but a father
Knows no greater joy
Than to watch his growing child
Clump around the stage
In oversized shoes.
When the curtain falls,
His applause is loudest of all.
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