[Marion Shore]

Bed

My bed’s a stage. As children, my friend Maeve
and I played Peter Pan. We jump-bounce-flew
with Tinkerbell, explored a cotton cave,
and hoisted sheets to sail the carpet blue.

My first love read me Shakespeare (Lady Anne
submitted to his Richard). Through the years
I played some shows the Chamberlain would ban,
with rich arrays of extras carrying spears.

These days I specialize in soliloquy.
Through marriage, death, dispersal, or old age,
my fellow-actors are a dwindling cast.
The fairy dust set off my allergy,
the sail became a shroud. My bed’s a stage,
each illness dress-rehearsal for the last.


The first line – "my bed's a stage" – immediately sets the scene, not only riffing on Shakespeare (who will show up in the next act), but evoking the theatrical motif that will be employed throughout the poem to depict various stages of the narrator's life.

Stanza 1 (or should I say Act I?) depicts the narrator and her childhood friend playing Peter Pan, exploring a cotton cave, hoisting sheets to sail the carpet blue – (what child hasn't engaged in this type of play-acting – with the added thrill of that offscreen voice yelling "Go to sleep!" hanging over your head?)

Act II. We find the narrator and her first love, who romantically reads her Shakespeare in bed, she playing lady Anne, submitting to his Richard. Over the years, subsequent "shows" are raunchy enough to invoke the ban of the Chamberlain – and no wonder, with all those extras carrying spears! [Laughter]

Act III. The lights dim. The scene is darker. The cast is dwindling. Harking back to the first act, the fairy dust now sets off her allergy, the sail becomes a shroud. Closing with an echo of the first line, and then that zinger of a closing line!

[The curtain falls.]

[Applause]

This critic raved: a charming, witty, if ultimately dark tragi-comedy.