The Circus is Leaving Town

I walked the tight rope in a past life -

arms spread, carefully balanced, no safety net.

Some nights I put my head

in the Lion’s mouth –

while instincts lightly slept.

Or painted myself the clown –

white face, red nose

blue tear- soberly placed.

Mostly, I pushed a broom through

the echoes of applause

left under empty bleachers.

I do not speak nostalgically.

I know that look

from the trapeze artist

waiting for her cue,

counting herself in like clockwork –

the perfect routine.

I know that look

from the bearded lady

blowing a playful kiss

to the boys who point,

who nudge and scoff.

I know the look in the strong man’s eyes –

jaw set, knees locked, arms bulging

as he lifts his hollow weights

a thousand pounds, then a thousand more.

I know the lie.

I know the lie when the tent comes down

and the coins are counted

and your purse is empty.

Or the price you pay

for one wrong step –

the slip, the stumble

that almost costs the show.

I know where the ringmaster hangs his hat

when the lights shut off

and the gates are closed.

I also happen to know

the circus leaves town in the morning.

Which is why,

when the crew are well asleep,

the tiger watches from her cage,

the bear listens in her muzzle,

As I whisper in the elephant’s ear,

“Your skin is thicker than the whip

and you are stronger than these chains.”

--Stacy Oler ©