if you concentrate
hard enough, sometimes
the fourth wall breaks—
fading just a moment
to darkened halls
live audience hanging
onto every word
lips red for stage
your favourite shirt
a scratchy costume

crew adjusting lenses
bright lights, microphones
looming overhead
director sipping coffee
writers angrily squabbling
over words you thought
came from your heart

ersatz onions floating in the pot
a man who only pretends
to love you; a stranger's
thoughts in your mind
distracted by
iPhone buzzing
against your/their thigh—

then back
in the privacy
of your little kitchen

nothing in your pocket
heartbroken husband
grasping for words

walls all around.