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Illusionist
by Robin Mayhall
She holds the stone and concentrates
And from her hands
Spill a hundred black beetles
She laughs like a child as
They skitter away
Their dark carapaces
Reflecting the moonlight
You follow one's trail until it finally vanishes
Then turn back toward her
Your witty witch
Her eyes smiling now
Her hands full again and
She's watching you
© Mayhall, 2007
Listen to Robin read her poem by clicking here.
Robin Mayhall is a public relations professional who writes speculative fiction and poetry in her "spare time." She lives in Louisiana with four cats who indulge her computer time with only occasional attempts to sit on the keyboard. Her poem "Mother of Atlantis" was nominated for a 2005 Rhysling Award, and an untitled scifaiku poem is currently up for a 2007 Rhysling. Read more of Robin's poetry at her website, www.hieran.com.