Size / / /

In the evening we searched his rooms,
     looking for reasons,
     words to serve
     as talisman against unease.
Perhaps an homunculus, we thought,
     carp lips pressed against the glass of the jar,
     a waxy fingered Hand of Glory, or a book
     whose binding once was worn
     by one less cautious then ourselves.

We prowled the debris
     pausing at each door,
     where dusty room telescoped into dusty room
     without one riddle to amaze us.
Despairing of marvels, we settled for mockery,
     danced on the magician's sofa,
     swung from his chandelier
     and burst through one last door to find

The magician himself,
     single eye a dulled mirror
     sprawled in a bouquet of scarves,
     and scattered across the floor,
     purses,
     some sequined, linings tobacco spackled
     others drab as the breast of a dead pigeon.

But each when opened released,
     like a dove from a hat,
     a single phrase
     or perhaps
     only
     a sigh.

 

Copyright © 2004 Jack Heazlitt

(Comments on this story | Poetry Forum | Main Forum Index | Forum Login)


Jack Heazlitt is a 62 year old web developer and occasional bartender living in Louisville, Kentucky. In 1992 he co-founded the Saturday Salon, a short-lived, highly productive, Louisville crit group. His previous work has been geared to public performance and the poem above is the sole example currently in print. To contact him, email jheazlitt-sh@yahoo.com.



Bio to come.
Current Issue
30 Jun 2020

Finding your community can feel like finding home and family
Something knocks on the door. Esther, dreaming, would like to ignore it. Instead, she blinks awake and grabs her shotgun, because dead things typically call for bullets, not spell work, and whatever wants inside her home is certainly dead.
By: Carlie St. George
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Carlie St. George's “Monsters Never Leave You.”
Beep, she thought, and then said it aloud because she had a beeper and why the hell not. “Beep. Beep.”
By: Janelle C. Shane
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Janelle C. Shane's “68:Hazard:Cold.”
And on the terrace: Célia. Dark fur shining like tar in the moonlight, snout long and wrinkled.
a quake fractured my wall, / but my portraits didn’t fall. / They disappeared one by one
in the name / of Mercy / I wished a wish―which the Universe soon granted―
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents the poetry from the June 29th issue.
By forming their own chosen family as the Sea Salt Trio, Roxas, Axel, and Xion are eventually able to fight for their own lives and purpose.
Issue 22 Jun 2020
By: Neha Maqsood
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Neha Maqsood
Issue 15 Jun 2020
By: Remy Reed Pincumbe
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Preston Grassmann
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 8 Jun 2020
By: Kathleen Jennings
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Keaton Bennett
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 2 Jun 2020
By: Sheree Renée Thomas
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Maggie Damken
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
Issue 1 Jun 2020
By: Jessica P. Wick
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
Strange Horizons
Issue 25 May 2020
By: Dana Wilde
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 18 May 2020
By: Johnny Compton
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Jong-Ki Lim
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 11 May 2020
By: Gabriela Santiago
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Ashley Bao
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 4 May 2020
By: Vida Cruz
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Raimo Kangasniemi
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 20 Apr 2020
By: Tamara Jerée
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: L. D. Lewis
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: L. D. Lewis
Load More
%d bloggers like this: