Ode to Ambra

Her name is musical
Her laugh is melodic
Her life is song

From beneath the stage
she emerges
this goddess of the night
holding a cup of coffee
poured from her thermos - a constant companion
clip board in hand
pins, labels, and tags
and she, herself, the cushion
next to me
in the darkness
with eyes to see
what needs fixing.

With big, broad strokes
she writes the words of the wardrobe world
hem
spats
vest
fedora
belt
sash
cravat

OK she will say
and return to her labor
buttons, elastic, velcro, and lace
cut from the same cloth as her mother
generations of generosity
the hum of her sewing machine late into the night

Schlepping loads of costumes
Hauling mounds of laundry
Serving
always
Serving
without complaint
this good woman of the theatre
whose hands have
pulled
tugged
tagged
tied
till the job is done
ready for tomorrow's run.

Patient saint of the pit
this leading lady
has no understudy.

For Ambra
the show must go on.