H LAWRENCE SUMNER
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Prattle and Practice:
Writings on Theatre & Film

"dear australia" - playwriting australia

7/9/2020

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THE PASSENGER'S LAMENT - by H Lawrence Sumner, courtesy of BRINK Productions

​With reticent mind I return to the world and hold my soul aloft.

Is it still the world I knew?

I take in the first cool breeze of Autumn
And fight against an imaginary lack of breath.
I conjure the worst fears in this new world.
The touch of a hand, or an embrace. Lips that meet,
only to pass on a scourge. Never to transfer love.

The train arrives. Taking my seat, still afraid to get too near,
yet wanting company. A smile. Laughter.
A morning after, held by another.
We are strangers on this train.
Strange companions in social recovery.
We sit and listen to each station announced, wanting contact,
keeping distance. No one raises their heads to smile at me.

Is this still the world I knew?

I catch the eye of a fellow traveller and we acknowledge our
mutual derision of the last skeptic amongst us. One lone middle
aged woman in a medical mask. What is she afraid of? No new cases
for a month now and still she holds out.

I relax into the rhythm of tracks and passing light.
Returning to work, I leave behind an unmade bed and a cupboard
full of hoarded pasta and toilet paper.
I smile, close my eyes and allow myself this small mercy.
That I was ready for the new normal.

But there is no such place.

I open my eyes and passengers are standing. Men, women, teens. Every seat occupied and
the aisle full to capacity.
Even the masked woman has someone beside her.
But next to me - an empty seat - as it was, it shall ever be.
For them, my skin is the thing to keep at bay.
My colour is false cause to be distant.
I need no plague, no mark, no scarlet letter -
And I see this world is no better
for having suffered.
No change, no new world, no new normal.

It is still the world I knew.

Where ventilators and high price tags
Are for the lighter shades
While those like me get body bags
And avoided like the plague.

A hundred souls on board and yet, not a soul comes near.
The empty seat beside me is the loudest voice I hear.

It screams. ‘Nothing has changed!’

​The world I knew had no place for smart, female, black.
With reticent mind I returned to the world and held my soul aloft.
But...
The train stayed on the track.
The train stayed on the track.
The train stayed on the track.
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