floating and leaving no trace
i have sharpened corners
a six-sided box of a man
i don’t breathe anymore
so i can live my life backwards
everything flips
mirror-reversed
my past wriggles like a snake
drawn endlessly from my spine
a magician’s trick of
of unending handkerchiefs
outside a beautiful evening cools
while i think about
school and how far
i have run from learning
a damned
thing
a family of magicians
wear tuxedos
–even the baby–
have squirting flowers
in their coat lapels
and rabbits for pets
mom is the one to get sawn
in two by dad
night after night
though when he is out of town
his understudy puts his hands
to the blade
grampa goes in the woven basket
while gramma drives in swords
one after another
always asking about the salad
was it all right
and where did he put her
social security check
i do the rope trick
climb it every night
and wait for the disassembly
that is bound to repeat
——
when i was a kid i could buy
at the magic shop
or sometimes the drug store
magic smoke
dab between my thumb and forefinger
press together and spread apart
long strands would magically form
filaments
shiny waving gossamer
a gauzy arc between fingertips
a good trick
if you had dexterity enough
you made smoke appear from your hands
i found later
when i got into building models
that airplane glue
which smelled so good
and left me light-headed
did the same thing
the human soul stretches out
between us too
incredibly thin and almost
invisible but not quite
strongest when we are pressed together
thinner but still strong
still connecting
when we are apart
–show me a magic trick– she says
sitting in bed
knees drawn up
sheets pulled up and tucked under her arms
–i don’t have any cards with me– i say
i don’t want to move
the bed is warm
and the floor will be cold
she pouts, a fake
–come on–
–how about i hypnotize you–
–no way
you’d just make me do
something dirty–
–not anything dirtier than
you’ve already–
she hits me with a pillow
her cheeks redden and her eyes brighten
–please–
–seriously–
she nods and i
get out of bed
the floor isn’t just cold
the wood is ice under my bare feet
i taste metal in my mouth
but i run to bathroom
and come back with a towel
–close your eyes–
she does it
i drop the towel
hold the mirror up to her face
–open your eyes–
she does
–what–
–the sun shining in the middle of the night–
she complains about my cold feet
when i slide back under the covers
but it is her only complaint
with the hint of warmer weather
after a cool spring
i ate lunch on park bench
you found me there
walking with a mutual friend
who suspiciously had to go
so you sat next to me
we skated along the edge
of summer
our last year
while you educated me on
the various types of flicking
vicious, light, and the rest
i accused you later of
using magic to capture me
but you swore it was just
the flicking
Words and Feathers 