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Wendy Taylor Carlisle

THE CIRCUS OF INCONSOLABLE LOSS

There is only one ring for those sweating horses with the preternaturally
flat backs and the fat smooth rumps from which ladies
                                                                      in stained tights vault onto the sawdust
                                                                                                              or another horse.

Only one ring for the hung-over clowns and their Volkswagen,
a car so old it must be pushed into the one ring
        which is also the one for the acrobats and the tigers and contortionists
                                                                         and dogs that walk on their hind legs,

then stop to scratch their necks, itchy under spangled ruffs. Above them
wire walkers and trapeze guys swing,
                                                                 mayfly-graceful. Under them the one ring
                                               reminds the audience to celebrate, each in their own

constrained and special way,
the emptiness they’ve come to in the spaces where other rings should be.

–from Rattle #32, Winter 2009
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