They made me do trapeze because of my prehensile feet, even though I was scared of height, still am, for all the hanging I did by one foot from a rope catching nubile acrobats — always afraid and afraid in my fear and confusion, rebellion, I’d drop someone — I knew I must not, as then they’d have stopped the magic lessons I fought and fought for, now I’ve made it. Magicians don’t run in our clan, they weren’t sure of this, but by and bye I’ve proved them wrong. I just wish my hands were as clever as my feet, all my efforts to find tricks that work with feet have foundered – though I think its a boon that as I stand and fox them all I’m playing with my toes, a pianist of my senses, feeling the ground beneath my feet, released. And for my next trick . . .
A. H / K. H-H (15 & 29 September 2018)
I’ve not written much prose fiction, this an effort at a writing a group I quite liked.