Several Pairs of Feet Breaking Into a Run

tessa livingstone

It was easy. Like peeling back wallpaper. Like taking apart a telescope. [I don’t believe

in magic]. Think of Houdini, restrained in chains. Feet locked in wooden stocks. You, too,

can sever bird-bright nerves. Miles & miles of telephone wire. [He learned to pick the lock.

He learned to work the spring]. All you need is axe or knife. At the right angle ::: with enough

force ::: you can unloose limb. A daisy hanging from its slender stem. [I would retch at the

smell of it]. Why insist on staying tethered. [I saw a trap door open. How swiftly he slipped out].

Remember men who swallow fire. Swords, caught in esophagus. Pushed into stomach.

You, too, can risk your life for magic. [I don’t believe. I refuse to believe]. The choice is yes

& yes & yes. Look for mirrors where the eye sees double. Where the eye sees [what isn’t

there] at all. You can learn to hold the knife right. Like Houdini, bound in rope & drowned

in water. You can emerge [unscathed] to wild applause.

Tessa Livingstone is a poet who lives & writes in Austin, TX. She enjoys engaging the transformative and macabre in her poetry, which has appeared in Anti-Heroin Chic, Moon City Review, Water~Stone Review, Five:2:One Magazine, South Dakota Review, Geometry Literary Journal, Blue Earth Review, Whiskey Island Magazine, and Portland Review, among others. She holds an MFA from Portland State University.