A Scripted Life
Each day the play starts over,
you making sure you’re not
the protagonist, that yes, you’re listed
in the credits but not under this name,
or any name you might give
to be scrawled on the side
of a paper cup by a barista
to avoid sorry, what was that?
Like you are Girl2,
Madwoman, the Ghost
haunting your own life.
No thank you, your jacket says
where you might have sewn an alias
in a different life. I’ll eat whatever
says your smile to the waiter
bringing the dish you didn’t order.
This play – whether it passes
any tests or takes the prizes –
is no concern of yours
because you have edited
yourself out.
What’s in a name conjured into the world
but crumbling sandstone at each gate,
each reached-for door?
Reach for nothing, tell no one
and avoid the hurt. Except you know
the choreographed days
to be more problem
than solution.
Say less, claim more.
Sign your name,
your real name.
Say it loud, louder.
Annunciate.
Hilary Watson lives in Cardiff. She graduated from the University of Warwick and was a Jerwood/Arvon Mentee. She was shortlisted for the Troubadour Prize and has been published in Poetry Wales, The Interpreter’s House, and Magma. You can find her website here, and on Twitter @PoetryHilary.