three-ring circusPeg Duthie
because i’m drawn to your tightropes, their solid, stolid tension as they anchor my wrists and slash across my shoulders and because the doorknobs and the latches throw strange glints into the ordinary shapes of shadows playing across the bedroom walls become merry and magnified with the silent brightness of unvoiced expectations, of linens lovingly bleached by fresh sunshine and sanded by brisk winds to bedeck the not unpleasant, not unsatisfying everyness of the days and the nights already bountiful with ringmasters, liontamers, clowns and dancers, a well-tried safety net, the softness of lavish sawdust yet this would not be the stuff of parade and dream were it not for your flaming hoops, the happiness of your knives.
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