Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Circus

Was I the one eating fire, dancer on the painted horse of the merry-go-round, clown, acrobat, or juggler, or was I the whip-cracking tiger tamer, or elephant woman? Maybe I had the will of iron on the tightrope, passion to love all caged beasts, and zest to roll out the red carpet for the bareback rider. Maybe I swung high in red and gold sequins on the trapeze against the canvas top, then spun and fell. Maybe I was the one who heard his heartbeats while he threw his knives around me and missed.

One night, on the clearing where the river curved, the tent folded up under a full moon, and the circus, without glitter or fanfare, left town and me. So, now, in my tiny room, wrapped in my shadows, I raise my eyes above the door to see my raven still sitting there and know there will be no other end after this.


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prompt: the end of something, anything