Portrait of Houdini with Wife

The pleasure of contrast: not chained up

in an oilcoth sack underwater,

holding his breath, but composing himself

for the camera, in his only suit.

You have to understand photography—

unforgiving mirror, unlike oils that soften

the hard edges of a man’s face

if you want them to, or velvet curtain

shielding the pine box during an escape.

The audience imagines his bones contracting

to a splinter. That’s not at all how it’s done—

the camera’s lens blanketed by cloth

to keep it in the dark; any halo of light

ruptures the film with shadow. His eyes already

turn inward to that place we’re going.

She thinks about escape too:

at the horse butcher, in line like the others,

or arguing over the price of bread

at the Market of Innocents. Adam’s rib

is forever hidden inside her chest

as the force of blows hibernates in a boxer’s fist,

but she, at least, is smiling when he says,

We have such a small family,

meaning your body

won’t open to me—it’s shackled

inside its cage: love and rage,

whose bars are meant to be broken.

Source: The Mansion of Happiness (University of Georgia Press, 2009)