What we remember of it
is what we began to memorize
as children, rehearsing
the same scenes again and again
until we got them perfect,
the father, the mother, the sister
entering from left to right,
obeying the arrows and Xs
chalked onto the stage,
saying their lines precisely
as we would have them said
until these dramas were fixed
in tableaux, enameled mannequins
nodding in storefronts,
raising their hands to comfort
or strike, while our shapes
in the shimmering glass
appear to be standing among them.
And if someone should call
one of our scenes into question,
we rush to its defense,
afraid that the window will crack
and collapse with a crash
and we will have nowhere to turn
to see ourselves reflected
in what we have so carefully
created and directed.
--Ted Kooser
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