Remember the Circus

Remember the circus when it came to town,

sitting in the big top when you were 10

– or whatever venue it was on that day –

stuffing yourself with cotton candy,

popcorn, a candied apple, washed down

by a syrupy drink or lemonade;

remember how much larger the elephants

were up close, how loud the roar of lions

and tigers, how glittering the saddles

of the ponies prancing around the ring,

the sharp crack of a whip directing them,

the clowns, even, less scary and how much braver you were,

then, caught in the glitz and glitter of the circus;

remember the adventure, eight cats in one cage

performing together, the brave trainer alone

with them, leaping and rolling and jumping

through a flaming hoop held high;

remember “death defying” feats of acrobatics

high above you, spotlighted, no net to catch them,

flying from person to person, tossed and caught,

or slowly stepping along a tight-rope stretched,

the gasps and the cheers of the crowd around you;

and remember discovering your life’s one goal,

there at the circus, and you rushed home at the end

of the show to string a swing to the nearest tree,

not too high, for safety, to assuage your fear of heights,

but high enough to keep you off the ground,

and the hours you spent hanging there, knees bent

to hold you, swinging back and forth and catching

the pretty girl in a sequined costume, a feathered

headdress, smiling and trusting you as she tumbled

into your outstretched hands amidst the “oohs”

and “ahs” of the crowd below, the applause as she

joined you there on the swing, waving, and with a kiss,

sending her back to another bar awaiting her, until one day,

tired of the game, a game you played alone, you missed her

and she plummeted to the ground to lie crumbled and broken,

her sequins dulled and fading, and you never performed

again, your circus long ended and gone to another town,

another 10-year-old’s dreaming; perhaps you were the child

who took my place, who caught the girl in the sequined

costume, a feathered headdress, smiling and trusting you

as she trusted me, flying into your outstretched hands;

for the show must go on, and we, too, moving on, will remember

childhood and the dreams we left behind, taking them

with us out in the real world that calls to us, going

as we must, but bound there by our dreams, crumbled

and broken, dulled and fading, dreams remembered from childhood.