One Act
by Vernon Waring

      
      
She lives without chandeliers.
Once she searched for these
and balconies
and window boxes
brimming with zinnias.
She thought reality
was a  veil you lifted,
where dreams were found
alive and squealing.

She lives half her days
in theaters now,
safe from a careless light
playing tricks with
her cheap makeup
and thrift store dress.

She's safe there,
away from her room
where love visits her
once a week,
expecting no chandeliers.