You're here.

We don't talk,
but I'm quietly watching you,
so when you make eye contact shyly
it's easy to know what we are doing.

You approach me,
sanitizing wipe, Band-Aid, and mic
(complete with wires)
and peel the plastic.

Swab my cheek gently,
and I smell the alcohol
but it's a pleasant
smell now.

Put the mic over my ear,
position it against the side of my face,
tape the Band-Aid to my cheek,
fingers brushing my skin.

You send the wire down my dress,
pull up my skirt and reach up for the end,
soft fingers lightly skimming over my back.
Adjust the mic in its belt, and lower the fabric.

Tell me in your sweet voice:
"Look right"
I do, "oh, hair", you say, and I pull
my ponytail out of your way,
thinking of your soft short hair.

Then, "Look straight"
and as I do, and you tape the mic tape
against my neck, I'm thinking
"I do."

Backstage I think to myself
that you haven't done anyone else's mics,
and this makes me feel good.

I know later I'll be watching for you
to be free, so I can feel your hands
near me, watch your eyes rimmed
with liner as they study the mic
hooked to my face.


Crouching slightly as you are up
on tip-toes, and we can communicate
silently once more.