The Spell
You will forget
the number 3
the hypnotist told her
and she counted
one two four
her ten fingers
numbered eleven.
How?
You will forget
your last name
John John
John…
Who are you? Your last name?
I don’t know.
So they follow
this man who strips them,
leaves them standing
unfamiliar
turns their minds
into blank spaces
waiting
for him
He will never
snap his fingers
Dispel
His answer to every question shuts a door.
His every word slams one. He refuses
to stand in the threshold wavering
with the cross currents.
Sometimes I reply in a way
that places a foot in the doorway.
At least I’d like to think so.
On the other hand, some doors
need to be closed. This one. On him.
Lock it.