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Puppeteer’s Assistant
by Daniel Shapiro For years you’ve worked for him, watching the comings and goings of disembodied heads and limbs, matching flamboyant clothes with their proper genders. He applauds you through exaggerated movements. Usually you remain in the basement apartment he supplies rent free. You sleep and toil there, never finding time to leave, your only memory of light a beam on a lacquered wooden face. Sometimes the din of construction penetrates the balsa-thin walls, sanders smoothing rough fingers. You would demand quiet if only you could hear, if your flexible body didn’t bend into the cramped space so easily. Someday soon, your boss will send you on an errand to pick up some string. You’ll get to see the outside, to feel the sun’s rays warm the tattered reins that keep you held up, a delicate dancer. |
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