‘I’ll crumple my painted face into tissue’
In her original poem, Imogen Shaw poignantly explores the identities we put on, both on stage and in every day life.
[Dies Offstage]
When I leave the theatre,
The rain will make the mulching
Leaves smell fresh and crisp.
I won’t need a smoke machine
For artificial mist. My heels
Will click, and I’ll go home
To peel the plastic
Off a TV Dinner.
As corpses go, I’m famished.
I might even manage
A toast to the star of the show.
Crack open a carton
Of cheap red wine.
I hear it goes well
With resurrection.
Before dawn
My ghostly reflection
Will tip me a bow
In the bedroom window.
I’ll crumple my painted face
Into tissue and
Throw it away.
Unbutton my costume and
Shed my cold dead skin.
Pop another bottle of wine
In the coffin.
Revive with another lie-in
- News / Fitz students face ‘massive invasion of privacy’ over messy rooms23 April 2024
- News / Cambridge University disables comments following Passover post backlash 24 April 2024
- Comment / Gown vs town? Local investment plans must remember Cambridge is not just a university24 April 2024
- Interviews / Gender Agenda on building feminist solidarity in Cambridge24 April 2024
- Comment / Does Lucy Cavendish need a billionaire bailout?22 April 2024