Prestidigitator

a poem in response to a prompt from Renée S

photo credit, my own

No wands or illusions one could view,
nor top hat to be found,
no decks of tried and tricksy cards
laying beguilingly around

Yet she become your Queen,
folded neatly into your deck
her wild card heart, rested between
sawed up boxes of your chest

Fluttering at your finesse,
every trick you’d ever made,
until poof! she flew off —
to meld in nightly escapades