Piece by piece I was stolen
My Disappearing Act
Wasn’t an act of magic
Wasn’t a trick, or a plan, or at all intended
Each piece, unacknowledged, unseen
Was thus taken away, vanished, forgotten
First by those with unseeing eyes, unhearing ears
Then by me, myself, mimicking the only thing I knew
I have been searching for those pieces
In an attempt to complete the puzzle
This is my Appearing Act
This is my lifetime work, in progress
I see and hear and witness
Those stolen pieces of myself
One by one
I acknowledge their invisibility
I gaze into their blank expressions
I witness their mistrust, their caution
You jolly well should be cautious, be mistrusting
I will wait here, until you are ready to come alive
Until you accept my embrace, and let me
paint you in glorious colours
Until you are ready to join hands and dance
No longer disappearing in a haze, vanishing
into a magic cabinet
Appearing, stretching to the light, still unsure, still hurting
But risking the exposure to the elements,
the warmth, the cool breeze
Even if just for a brief moment
Dear stolen pieces
I give you permission to retreat back into the dark,
Into the nothingness
But only if absolutely necessary
The thieves no longer have the power over you
Their script is no longer your story
Let’s make a new story together -
A peculiar, unfamiliar sort of story
The one that doesn’t shame and doesn’t turn away
The one that is tasting life as if for the first time
The story of possibility of touching and being touched
The story of the Appearing Act and of what happens next
[This is the poem that gave the title to the book]