Imagine a broad bodied female opera singer whose days for showing off her legs are over by most standards. She sports black lacey biking shorts that close around her knee. Her hair is short and an unknown blondish color. Her make-up is simple and not of notice, yet her short green dress is a lose fitting tent-like fashion with great appeal. Her plunging neck line is dramatically studded with large black shining faux jewels. It tastefully ends in just-the-right spot. Black lines form a whirly pattern that moves in controlled directions across the green silky fabric. She is a one-of-a-kind chanteuse who left her day job to sing for all of us on a day when her composer friend asked her to. Mary's lyrics contrast with what one would normally expect from an operatic soprano, but that is exactly why the composer put these poems to music for Mary. She is appropriately loud and talented without question and I wanted to shout "you go girl" -- yet I was sitting with a crowd of all ages, not in an Irish Pub. Zero had every woman laughing and smiling and connected throughout the song. Don't we all wish we could hang it up and walk out of the house just being?
Zero
poem by Beverly Rollwagen, music by Sarah Miller, sung by Mary Ohm
She just wants to feel light. She
begins with her hair and cuts it so
short her ears look like the Buddha's
with lobes as long as tongues. She looks
ridiculous, but without the distraction
of hair, she has a lot more time to
think. She eliminates makeup, then
stockings and heels, and stops eating
food she has to cook. She wears the
loose comfortable robe of a priest. Her
life looks different now. She spends
more and more time alone; she finds her
old friends to be a heavy load, asking
questions she can't answer like, "What
are you doing?" when she is busy being.
Inside she carries a great nothingness, a
zero, the zero at the beginning.
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