Tuesday Poem

On Driving Home from the Dream Workshop

That play is over, 
and we are in the tiring house 
changing costumes, 
putting on the masks 
of our usual lives.  
Yet sometimes,
when we listen to the voice 
riding through our lips, 
we hear something different, 
a deeper timbre, perhaps, 
or a new word.
We say something 
we could not
have said before.
That is the gift 
we have received, 
and the gift 
we can now give.
by Nils Peterson
Tiring House: The room where Elizabethan actors changed 
their clothes.