I never liked the trick
with the girl and the swords.
The magician would lead her
to the box;
she’d peek inside, as if
expecting it to lead somewhere
unusual, a book-filled desert or
an ice cream shop only serving root beer
floats, right before entering.
The door would shut
and I’d always think she was going to knock;
a reverse invitation of
Then the magician would use
a blade, always one that shone under
stage lights and stabbed through so
so quickly like hot water warmed spoons
into sherbet. How many times
does it take hearing the blade
and then the silence
before you stop holding your breath?
© 2019 Chloe N. Clark