This is by Diane Wakoski, who I've had the great pleasure to meet. She has a kitchen counter that is literally the stump of a giant tree that stands waist-high from the floor.
I cut the deck
and found a magician
driving a mack truck
down the California grapevine.
His eyes were glistening Japanese beetles,
and his hands were surveyors of the moon.
He pulled a carnation
out of his sleeve,
and offered me a ride.
I took the flower and said I was leaving
to be an illusionist. He said
he specialized in cards
and sleight of hand.
I touched his mouth and ears
with my lips,
"Keep on truckin,"
I said.
But he laughed and told me a bedtime story.
His body was an elm.
His mouth was filled with grapes.
His hands turned my body into new honey.
Now I am home alone,
reading directions
for sawing a beautiful woman in half.
First you start with a mirror....
Before I turn down the crisp sheets of my bed,
I shuffle the tarot deck.
But the magician is missing.
Is he still driving the freeways of California?
Or is he
only an illusion
in my own
magician's
head?
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