Katie Willingham
The actor rehearses alone, before the rehearsal,
to get the lines right. If I could remember
everything, I doubt it would appear like
elegant scaffolding, a face on top, and limbs, how
they gesture now, in June, towards June things:
a dress covered in boats, leaves flashing their undersides
to an oncoming thunderhead. A friend
reposts an old picture—we were,
we were—my mind already leaping to the option
of reposting the repost. Each time
I think of what has happened, I make it
again. I lay down the stones between this
and that, all else a river. The lesson of water: what
I couldn’t have if I could just organize myself around it.
