Life is a Circus
Center ring: Martin juggles many flaming torches: a job where he rises incredibly early, a job that brings him home late, a job that gives him a break for dinner and then fills his evenings.
Side Rings: Children on unicycles, riding back and forth from school, sports practices, end-of-year festivities.
And I? I suppose I am the ring master? No, I've given up that illusion of control, of ultimate design, long ago.
No. I am the one retreating out the back, the elephant-rider-turned-thief. My hands dripping with jewels, I slink under the mud-spattered big-top, hoping to disappear into the night. With my ill-gotten gains I will move to a little, quiet cottage in the woods. I will plant a simple garden to feed me. I will build simple fires to keep me warm. I will try to pretend my life in the circus is over. I will disavow knowledge of swinging trapezes, tigers in cages, large women with beards.
Comments