an angel and devil
sit atop my shoulders
legs dangling onto my chest.

one puppetmaster tugs at my heartstrings
and whispers
“this is it.
this is it.
italy beckons
and fate awaits.”

the other, not to be outdone
snarls in my ear
“let it go.
let it go.
it is not your time.”

and i – confused marionette –
collapse under a tumultuous burden
and wonder which limbs to move
and which to keep still

for the two puppeteers are identical twins
and i cannot for the life of me
tell who’s who.