Selected Memories, or Storytelling...
I am trying to stink up something to right
Was the lion tamer kidnapped in the night?
You have been wronged by many a dirty sponge
If there is treasure before you, why don't you lunge?
In a dream, you have a drink with your writer friends
You tire of their babble, their triteness offends
Yet they were transparent or never really present
They did not have the beauty of a mumbling pheasant,
The circus strong man's most favored companion
What inspired him to become a vegetarian
Only the circus librarian had no one to love
Cloistered in his bibliotheque frowning from above
Where were the "Bearded Lady's" famed talking doves
She'd open her hands and they'd fly off her gloves
Each time one could see tears in her eyes
Her faces carried the weariness of many surviving lies
At the end of her act, she lost her repose
Heaving at the audience a bag of clown noses
Now everyone looked like the clown she hated
She used to love him when he'd been caught and baited
She dreamt that she had died on top of big red feet
or had been visited by a troop of ghostly sheets
The "Bearded Lady" thought of her blind father
She wanted to erase all that had faltered...
Micah Zevin 2007
...Stories from the circus tent
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