Arthur had a badge certifying his magician license.
He was certified, or so his box of 101 tricks claimed he was.
He wore one of this older brother’s jackets still two sizes too big and a top hat, which he would correct you and say No, it’s a magician’s hat.
He’d use his wand to make a stuffed rabbit appear, coins double, or read your mind as to what animal you were thinking of simply by asking three questions.
Before his grandfather’s birthday, he lost his wand.
We looked all over the house and he tossed out everything from his closet.
He cried and blamed his brothers, then his mother, then me.
The show would be a disaster, he’d say. None of the tricks would work.
I pulled out a chopstick from the cabinet and said, How’s this?
He shook his head and cried more and I wondered when we started to know the difference between the secular and the sacred.