We met on the magic show
of the Internet and to prove
that she was a magician
she pulled a rabbit from
her purse. Not a stuffed
toy, but a real motherfucking
bunny rabbit, just like a Wes
Anderson movie. Her bag hopped
as she dropped sunflower seeds
and in that moment I knew Snow
White bribed all the woodland
creatures. My heart is an animal
I have never tried bribing,
only putting it in the cage of my
ribs, but somehow it always
escapes. The trick to being an escape
artist muscles and flexibility.
My heart is a muscle and it sure
is flexible. It beats my chest
like a rabbit in a bag.
“Oh no” she said. “He's eating
the bag.” Maybe he just wants to be free
to escape. He dreams of being the star
of the act rather than the prop.
I've always wondered how magicians persuade
animals to appear on command.
Do they tell them that they will be magic?
We all dream of being magic
of being the empty air suddenly opened
of being the person floating in the air
of being the illusionist, rather than the trick
of walking from the water torture cell unscathed
Truth is, I was waiting for someone
to appear out of thin air
and take my heart off my hands
wave their hand over it and make
it explode into a shower of emeralds
or silver coins. But that's not how magic works
Houdini was killed by a punch
to the stomach. And David Blaine
is left doing product placement.
When rabbits retire, do they
wake up in the purses of girls
on first dates with poets
that way their final trick
can be appearing on a page
abraca-metaphor. I thought
maybe I had magicked her to be
just like what indie movies told
me would happen. Then she did her final
trick, disappearing. There wasn't even
a hat left. Magic is the space between
hello and goodbye. Magic is a rabbit.
Magic is the ordinary date made
marvelous, by a bunny rabbit chewing
through a bag.
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