Things not meant to be

The saddest sound

is made

when wooden lips collide

across the string divide.

 

Stomboli laughed

at foolish puppets

mimicking the grandest acts

of life.

 

Mangiafuoco was more kind;

set me free

with coins and a sad shake of his head

when he heard the tale

of two puppets kissing -

wooden lips bump

to the sound

of earth hitting a coffin lid.

 

When my wood turned to skin

I sought her out.

She had been devoured by the fire;

there was nothing left

but memory: the texture

of wood on my lips –

the sound of a wooden club

as it connects to the small head

of a fur seal pup.