Sketchbook | Like a pencil sketch but with words
Black cars of sadness
line the street
a burial, now a reception
Brilliant flowers to lighten the mood
eyes stay turned to hands
and shoes and rugs
Till they met her eyes
bright
her veil removed
and voice steady
as the magician’s widow
performs his last show
Well-wishers
replete with short sentences
remembrances heartfelt
tributes of rapport
from friend and also from foe
Surrounded by his livelihood
pictures and props
a lifetime of spectacle
attest his flourish, his skill
yet hide his secrets
as eyes wander
to the old wooden trunk
When the crowd finally wanes
the house empty by half
her eyes watch
stragglers and frauds
already knowing their tell
except the young girl
book at her lap
Kneeling
the widow palms a card
hiding a smirk as
the girl responds in kind
with a second, a match
the deuce of hearts
Bending and folding
cards twist, together
hearts become a key
and the trunk unlocks