The Ventriloquist Divines Poem by Lisa Allen Ortiz

Fortune spasms his stomach; telling
cramps his obliques, gastric juices
and lymph. He throws voices
through the hall of his throat. Here
is the news from the dead:
the puppet lives in a box,
mute heart, rag ribs, glass eyes.
The ventriloquist clicks open the latch.
He touches cold teeth with warm tongue.
He won't say a word. He can't tell the crowd.
He smoothes his lapels with his hand
and walks out under the lights.
Everybody sees what he has. Kids! Meet my friend!
He acts surprised to see his own hand.