Mr. Burns and Other Plays. Anne Washburn

(Continuing): where I thought it had failed to ignite: the connection was miswired, the fuse fizzled, the material misincorporated, or just too old. I was, in those microseconds, violently alive. But microseconds pile up, and eventually we came to the end of them.

      RUTHIE: What are you learning? Moods? Plants?

      THE NON-PROPHET: Some of the Big Kids—

      ALL: We were overcome with signs

      BARUCH: Their bodies dazzled in the morning

       Gunpowder and stars.

       Blackout.

       THE SMALL

      A BRIEF PLAY ABOUT THE END

      PRODUCTION HISTORY

      The Small was produced by Clubbed Thumb (Maria Striar, Artistic Director) in Summerworks 2010 at the Ohio Theatre in New York City. It was directed by Les Waters. The set design was by Louisa Thompson, the costume design was by Kirche Leigh Zeile, the lighting design was by Jane Cox, the sound design was by Bray Poor, and the music was by Dave Malloy; the production stage manager was Colleen M. Sherry. The cast was:

DUNCAN	Matthew Maher
LEAH	Maria Dizzia
MARC	Gideon Banner
WALT	Dave Malloy
LORI	Susan Pourfar

      THESE ARE THE PEOPLE IN THE PLAY

DUNCAN	a man, in his forties
LEAH	a woman, in her early thirties
MARC	a man, in his early thirties
WALT	a man, in his forties
LORI	a woman, in her mid-thirties

      NOTES ON NOTATION

      Words or phrases in square brackets are thought/implied, but not said.

      Sentences which don’t end in periods are thoughts which have come to a close but not been entirely concluded or dropped.

      A slash ( / ) indicates the moment when the next line begins.

      Long sections of text with minimal punctuation are not an invitation to speed forward.

      NOTE ON MUSIC

      Dave Malloy contributed many of the lyrics to “They Said What’s That Coming . . .”

       THE SMALL

       The small birds swirl around

       the high cicadas chirr

       a towhee pecks the ground

       I look at the first star

       My heart held to its joy

       This whole September day

       The moon goes to the full

       the moon goes slowly down

       The wood becomes a wall

       Far things draw closer in

       the wind moves through the grass

       then all is as it was

       What rustles in the fern?

       I feel my flesh divide

       things lost in sleep return

       as if out of my side

       on feet that make no sound

       over the sodden ground

       The small shapes drowse—I live

       to woo the fearful small

       What moves in grass I love—

       the dead will not lie still

       And things throw light on things

       and all the stones have wings.

      —Theodore Roethke