Tight, Tight
Rope
Rope
Balanced between blood and
beauty,
you walk this rope that cleaves the
air.
You tidy your muscles. Tuck in your
nerves.
Suck in your fear, and call it
grace.
They have come to watch you
fly.
They are here to watch you
fall.
You never know which buckling
leg
will delight them
more.
You reach the rope at its
tautest.
Precisely centered, you
turn.
Your hand clutches air, then
line.
For a moment, you forget
them.
You remember your
mother.
You see a blue
sky.
An elephant, a red hat with
sequins,
a tractor with mad
teeth,
a priest, a silver ring, a
cowboy.
When you reach the
platform,
you have no idea why they
clap.
They shamble out of the
tent.
It is growing late. More shows await
them.
And you: you can feel
nothing.
They have taken your loves
away.