Twelve
by Johanna Ocampo
There I stand beneath the curtains
Of that crammed, messy stage.
Being one of the few to move sets,
I watch actors, builders, dancers
Flying about, and I wonder where I am at twelve.
Bright lights strike her face, and she is blinded,
But her bright red smile gleams despite it,
and a tear rolls down her cheek.
I am twelve.
That day, I went home and tried on my mother’s red lipstick.
I see her smile, and then suddenly, I am a thousand people.
I dance, I belt, I cry, I run, I skip, I fall.
I am twelve.
My heart skips a beat, thinking of the yellow New York lights,
The roses that will fly on the stage, the boos and the silence,
And the tears that will roll down my cheeks too.
I can see the end, even if I haven’t sung my first note yet.
I wipe off my palms, run home, and I look for my first real audition.
I am twelve.