She has one.
“It’s like gripping gold.”
You know who you are
for a week, a month, a year.
Identity assigned
and her heart can rest while her mind holds words,
movements, reactions, emotions,
prescribed in layers beneath that fleeting assignment. It’s
all there –
no excuses for not knowing. She can have
a good dinner and a trip to Walgreen’s. She will save
them all in a shoe box from back home. It’s not easy but
she clings to this life and that paper. But,
as soon as this one’s done,
she craves the next. Without her call sheet,
she’s no one.
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