Hands

Alexandra Pelletier

Behind the rouge curtains and
cued rounds of applauses,
I found some cigarette butts and
some used camera lenses that made
absolutely no sense, but
when I peered deeper into the
mirrors behind the smokescreen,
I saw a reflection of the
prestidigitator and realised that
the hands that write these scripts
filled with such tricks and illusions
are no different from the ones that
write these myths, sold to me
as treasures for life and revelations.

A one line poem in response to Renée S’s Prestidigitator

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