In my bedroom, under dim lamplight
I hold the puppet down on my desk
I pin its limbs, tie its strings, clip its wings
I shine the lamp on it so I might see it clearly
That soft, delicate skin; those beady eyes

I lift it up and play with it sometimes
I’ll take it to play games, maybe say names
‘Hello,’ they’ll greet – the other puppets on stage
I’ll send a nod their way
‘How are you?’ they’ll ask.
The puppet’s doing okay.

From the crowds I’ll take it home
To the empty spot on my desk
Away from all the others, where the puppet will meet
The drawer of questions it knows so well
‘That’ll keep it busy,’ I say as I put it away.

And then I’ll stand up, get off of my seat
Beginning to walk to the exit, the point of entry
Where on the way I’ll feel weight upon my feet
And I’ll be hit with the memory:
Until I take you with me
Never this room may I leave.

23.VI.2024