"The Savior" for Aaron by Lara Dolphin

Rodgers and Hammerstein look on helplessly

as the dress rehearsal heads Off. The. Rails.

To make matters worse, Mrs. God has left

director’s notes and gone to take a nap.

Just then a follow spot hits a lanky man, a carpenter by trade,

looking better than good whistling down the aisle

wearing a flat tweed cap and an impish grin

and wielding his trusty blue Makita.

He knows that theatre is a fretless bass,

subject to interpretation--

in the hands of a novice, a disaster

in the hands of a master, a triumph.

How he sets about his work

with both technical precision

and experienced discretion

is a puzzlement.

Fade times are fixed, sound cues corrected.

Lines are perfectly delivered.

Costume changes happen seamlessly.

Struck scenery flies off into the wings.

Then a snag . . .

The choreography for the 11 o'clock number comes undone.

Anna quickly motions him over

while the leading man steps aside and takes note.

Everyone from ushers to understudies

watches as the pair polka-waltzes across the stage

gliding and twirling, a golden-pink dress floating

on hoops and crinoline around and around.

And we, who for want of circumstance cannot see,

can feel the revival like a ripple of hope,

spreading in an ever-widening gyre throughout creation

giving us the courage to go on

giving us strength to do our best for one more day.