Like Magic

This poem is about the same girl I wrote about in Naked Beauty (though some of the imagery reminds me a little of the fiddler in Celtic Woman, who danced barefoot as she played.)

Like Magic

There was a touch
of the houdini
in her

while those around her
settled in the snug, smug comfort
of their strait-jackets

she escaped
dancing her
wild freedom
singing her
wild joy

they couldn't understand
seeing their
strait-jackets
as life-jackets
protecting them from
doing what they feared
(and even deeper down:
desired)

yes, there was a touch
of the houdini
in her
and even more so
when she shed
her last restraint

and disappeared.