teatro la fenice presents ‘song without words’

SIARRA RIEHL

1792

Speak to me in the voice of the lost woman. Remember how she heard the sounds from her crimson seat. First, the dulcet moan of the bassoon. Long legato notes. Next, the sweeping slur of the timpani. The staccato shriek of the flute. 

Speak to me from beneath her skin. The way her blood would rush as she sat in her seat—poised and perfect—and felt the pizzicato of the violins, the plucking pinch of her veins. 

Speak to me in the voice of the continuo. Bow on string. Finger on bow. Eye on finger. Tear on eye. Calloused, all. That voice of yearning. Of repetition. Of repetition. Of repetition. And then, deeper still, the undulation. The sweet swelling in the stomach of the double bass.

Speak to me, bejewelled and beautiful, in the voice of her prime. Don her teeth, her necklace, her rings. Remember her lips—adorned with thick, black smoke—and lick them. Smudge her shade on wine glasses and imprint tender cheeks.

 2003

Speak to me in the voice you remember. That humming voice that softened you to sleep. That voice without words. That symphony of human sound. What pleases you there? What hurts? 

Go there. No, really. Go there now. Walk down the aisles of her Saturday haunt and speak to me from the stalls. Brush the backs of your thighs against knobby knees. Melt into the soft of the newly upholstered red cloth. Lean back. Enjoy the music. Become the lost woman. 

Feel her supple skin lose elasticity. Feel it sag and wrinkle. Feel the dress slip from the bone of her shoulder. Feel her become the seat. Feel the seat become the noise. Feel her breath become the creak in the floor. Feel her breast become the stain pressing against your back. Feel her throat become the starless sky hung with dead angels and gold.

Speak to me in the voice of the lost woman and tell me how you miss me. How you meant to say goodbye. How you never even left. How you're there, still, listening. 

Siarra Riehl (she/her) lives and creates on Treaty Six land in so-called Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, with her wife and two cats. A transdisciplinary writer, performer, and teacher, she holds an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Siarra’s fiction received an honourable mention in AWP’s 2020 Intro Journals Project, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Flood, Khôra, Under the Gum Tree, and elsewhere. Embodiment, magic, and queerness are her writing practice's heart.