HONEY, MOON!

“How new mailmen were killed every day.
Touching poisoned postcards they sent to each other”

Patricia Lockwood, Motherland, Fatherland, Homosexuals

CHARACTERS

NARRATOR
SHE
CHORUS
MONSTER
CRAB

I

NARRATOR

Once upon a time
There lived a human being
Parents called it: SHE.
She not necessarily thought she is she,
But it was the name given by the world
Her identity, glued on her as a stamp.
In her dreams she was a whole post office.
In her mind she was a castle with broken windows.
In her mouth she was a blossoming meadow.
In her chest she was a thunderstorm of running horses.
In her arms she was all curiosity in the world
In her body she was stoned as a marble in the hands
Of the sculptor.
In her legs she was a tree implanted into the ground.
She never went out of her room.
And she knew: reality never matches her feelings.

But once she dreamt a silver citadel.
And it was shining.
She was singing so loudly in it.
And she was laughing.
And running.
Her arms were free
Her legs were free
Her mouth was wide opened.

She googled: silver citadel.
508 000 results, but none
As in her dreams.
She asked her parents,
What is it, they didn’t know.
And then… She started to dream about it every night.
CHORUS

Silver citadel
Bright in mind
One moon
Thousand miles

SHE
Away
CHORUS

Wrap you up
Turn gold into earth
Change mountain into dust
Unlimited meaning
What was too little,
Will become too much

SHE

Suspicion in the mind
Makes ghosts in the dark
Like sticky glue
Wear out
What is all about

CHORUS

Silver citadel
You stood up
Silver citadel
in your father’s clothes
Silver citadel
and walked out of the room
Silver citadel
And walked out yourself
Silver citadel
I never had any dolls
Silver citadel
I always played soldiers
Silver citadel

And trains and wars
Silver citadel
and distances
Silver citadel
And stairs to death
Silver citadel
I built so huge
Silver citadel
It’s not easy to the reach
Silver citadel
The end of the staircase
SHE
My mother said
Learn how to climb
Silver, silver, silver
Citadel
But she didn’t answer
How does the distance look?
CHORUS

It extends from the spaceless
Within the edge
Of what can be loved.
SHE

I have a box of matches in my palm.
CHORUS

Lets sit.
SHE

No, thanks, my dear.
It’s time to quit.

SHE leaves.

—
📖 For the full version of libretto “Honey, Moon!” contact the author Gabriele Labanauskaite → [email protected]