Circus Stands
Location
I met her at the circus.
When our eyes locked through the crowd, I was pulled from my seat
And suddenly suspended upon a tightrope,
Teetering over the audience I was once amongst.
I blinked against the lights and squinted to the other side
And saw her, on the second platform, waiting for me.
I took the first, shaky step.
Being her confidant is like working at the circus:
Sometimes, the clown, drawing out gasps and laughter.
Other times, the net,
Slightly panicked but nevertheless uselessly poised to catch her
As she plunges off of the diving board
Towards an empty bucket.
I blinked, one day, and found myself removed from the act,
Once again stuck sitting in the bleachers against my own volition
Forced by circumstance to watch her trapeze partner miss and the net crumble in,
And to have a heart attack every time the tower swayed.
Long after the circus goes out of business,
After the stripes on the tent fade with age
And the people and performers all file out,
I’ll still be sitting there on the hard bleacher seats
With two thermoses that will have had long gone cold.
She’ll still be up there, still on the tightrope that I had once walked myself.
I’ll hear the snap of the string before it actually sounds, but will stay in my seat.
I can’t not to watch her final descent.