As the hum of cellos tuning, vibrates through the wooden floor, I clench my toes in shoes that are not my shoes.
But when I relax, they are mine.
Oboes respond to the cellos’ tune as I clench my fists. My fingers brush against clothes that are not my clothes.
But when I relax, they are mine.
Trumpets give the last call, I roll my shoulders and twist my neck, the face and the hair are not mine.
But when I relax, they are my face and my hair.
And the curtain rises on the me I choose to be.