“
Magician's Girl
You’ll know when. My gossamer singlet flushes
to its ends in fire. The black hats, too, begin
to hate you. One wrong word & they curl their brims
to reveal knives. By Thursday, the floor translates
your footfalls as Morse code. At your slow soft shoe,
the oubliette opens. Another narrow not-death
& the curtains become girls again. They leave
you again. They don’t love you like Mother does,
bound to the velvet board, febrile Mother willing
your water-tank, your white-gloved touch,
the part of her night where she is finally a half
of you. Despite the involvement of blades. Despite
my holding-down hands, their quiver. She knows
about your knob-kneed bedmates, their soft
white hair. Girls lost in the long warren
of your arms. Big-toothed girls, girls who disappear
& disappear. You blame yourself. Why? You
don’t know that what you do in the dark
of your room—I do it too? Watch closely. Here
are my man’s hands. Here is my girl’s mouth, speaking—
”
”