Don’t comfort me! Stop trying to help! I’m just a crippled
warrior who has no foe except for my disease
and age and uselessness. Who can’t even save the life of the man she loves!
Chrissie! My Cadette…help me stand! The Devil is in the air tonight and I do
not want him catching me sitting in a
chair.
(Siriana moves to the
stair, holding on to the rail, looking where Roxy disappeared.)
All my books and education are lies
Youth, health and beauty remain our masters
Oh, I know what my Epitaph will be
They will call me Teacher and Poetess
Survivor of Multiple Sclerosis
Whom no successful man could ever love.
And they’re right.
Despite fame and fortune and all my art
I know there lives the foolish girl in me
Without house or child…without a husband
Writing a hundred times in my notebook:
Mrs. Robert Xavier Yeager.
Who is, in reality, his widow.
Dressed in black.
The Press hovers over my dying light
Like a careless Goddess, rubbing her hands
Waiting for my voice to finally cease
Oh, I know what my Epitaph will be
She was a strong poster child for MS
Who helped the poor and voiceless of the world.
Fought greed and hatred and cowardice
Sirianna Diane Bergmann
Who thought she was a big hot deal
But the Media, that giant asshole
With Facebook and Twitter analysis
Will bring her reputation back to Earth.
Will call her blank verse rhymeless gibberish
Just another voice screaming in the dark.
(Chrissie brings
Sirianna her cane.)
But my Cadettes! My Sisterhood! My friends! It’s not what we
said but that we were heard! Keep fighting! Keep marching! And keep loving.
Love with all your heart and soul…with style and panache!
And always remember.
Siriana D. Bergmann was not crippled!
SHE WAS ARMED!
(Siriana thrusts her cane to the sky. Lights
down. End of play.)
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