the charade is over
the riddle of the highwire act
when the girl in the red tight pants
kisses the ground and bows to the crowd
applause here, whistle there
no safety net to catch the joie de vivre
she knows the feeling very well
she looks up and sees
three vultures circling the Arizona sky
they glide as if they are riding the air
but she knows they have their eyes on her
this is a close call
she is throwing her balance a la fortuna
the tattered shoe, the arthritic knee
and a resolve eroding like light snow
the fine line between
breathing and not breathing
as she spans the length to the platform
she wonders if the devil will push her
she wonders if she is a fake somnambulist
she wonders if an angel is desensitizing her nerves
life is smaller
among forebodings and silences
each lonely step to fulfillment
is as drab as a momentary farce
the bigger picture will be
when she falls eighty feet down
and be a living memory
to the gasps of long-faced witnesses
for now she lives
like a wild flower hiding on a crease of fear
and she hates the part
when she has to beg the audience
to donate to the circus emergency fund.
Poem of the Week
who have experienced
on a large
i tell raif
i think my
might be dead
haven't seen her
& her car hasn't moved
for two weeks.
you would smell it
passing me a plate
of triangular shaped bread
slathered in jam.
Story of the Week
DARLEEN SQUEELED into the empty spot as soon as the gleaming white Mercedes pulled out. "We got lucky," she told Montana. "Even on a Monday night, this lot is killer."
Montana rolled her big blue eyes. "Whatever."
The eleven year old had better things to do, like text her friends. Incessantly, as if she had a tic. The kid hadn't wanted to shop tonight, but Darleen insisted. This was their first Christmas without Paulie and the girls needed to stick together. Darleen's ex had been nasty lately and mediation had hit a cement wall. Montana wasn't aware how dangerously close they were to losing access to Paulie's vast and unreported wealth.
Montana sighed dramatically as she yanked open the door of the Porsche Cayenne and tumbled out. She didn't pause in her texting.
Darlene checked her face in the rearview mirror. The most recent fat transfer had been wildly successful. She loved her new lips. Grabbing her Gucci bag, she hopped out of the front seat.
Her daughter trailed her into the mall, thumbs flashing on her phone keypad.