strings attached

the strings are almost invisible.
i say almost, because to
someone who knows that
they are there, it is
impossible to look away.

a sharp tug.
hand rises in a
gesture of acknowledgement.
head bobs up and down,
a ritual of recognition.

suddenly, every movement
seems predetermined.
controlled by shimmering threads
leading to deft fingers,
which jerk expertly,
telling a story in fluid motion.

just the barest of stutters
pulls away the shutters,
ensnaring the attention
to what goes on above
the stage,
an elegant dance
filled with the confidence
only expertise can bring.

the limbs of the marionette
move tiredly, going through
the same motions day in, day out.
joints creaking, showing
glimpses of smooth wood.

beady eyes seem to follow me,
a trick of the light, perhaps?
in the barest of breaths,
i swear i see agony flash
through their entire being,
a desperate seizing to be
free of the silver prison.

the strings pull tighter,

one tug,
two tug,

happy face time.