"Wax Cylinder" a poem by Miranda

An original poem by thepoetmiranda

Intro

This poem is part of my The Escape Act manuscript. I started that book manuscript during grad school after finding out through some genealogical research that my wife did that I’m related to Harry Houdini. I had always been captivated by vaudeville, escape acts, magic, sleight of hand, the big show and all the language that surrounds performance and illusion, so this was a serendipitous discovery.

I completed enough of the manuscript for it to become my thesis for my creative writing degree, but I never really finished the entire thing. After I graduated in 2016, I was stuck. I had some poems I felt good about (some others I didn’t) and an aching feeling that I had not yet escaped what I needed to—not until I came out as a trans woman in 2023.

I wrote this poem after my Houdini research led to finding out that the only recordings of his voice were on a handful of wax cylinders (owned by magician David Copperfield last I checked). Voice is an interesting topic for a transgender woman who has severe vocal dysphoria... Have fun with that, psychoanalysts!

The poem is below, followed by my video reading. If you like this poem, consider buying me a cup of coffee at ko-fi.com/thepoetmiranda and/or subscribing.

💜Miranda📚

Wax Cylinder

I turn your voice in my hand
with the worn wooden crank

of the cylinder phonograph.
As the needle tears across

your wax skin, I feel the scratches
against the surface of my eardrum—

the fragility of your voice a cracked
window, a shattering in progress.

Even my indulgence, my listening,
fractures the artifact, spreads more scars

across the surface from which you speak.
What eternal life is there if even our words

break into a thousand glittering pieces
to be swept up, dropped into today's garbage?

I imagine the way your booming oration
once held an audience. Now I hold it,

still rotating in the grip of my hand.

My Reading