I am an Outcast Qualified to Live Among My Dead

A Balanced Life

7/23/15

What has brought me to this place?

I can see myself tip-toeing along a tightrope.

I told the young girl cradled in my arms a formidable truth;

I told the young girl cradled in my arms that I had had a past in the circus;

That I had balanced atop the bare backs of elephants.

Through the soles of my feet I could feel the shifting of their weight

From hip to hip lumbering and predictable, adjusting in every step.

I had stood on galloping draft horses in the arena, grey ones, dappled.

I could adjust my weight accordingly as I rounded the circle

Leaning this way, then that, astute to their slightest vernacular.

And I had balanced myself on a bar held over a flaming fire, the bar held by

Two prepubescent boys ready to twitch or flinch or

 Be distracted at any moment by their diversions.

So, yes, the circus was where I learned to pass on something fine--

Even transcendent—even if it was all a lie.

The girl in my arms knew and didn’t care.

She willingly let me carry her up into the empty lot that few dared to cross.

She didn’t pull back when I showed her where the kitten had been snatched off the wire fence

Killed instantly by a dog.

She didn’t cry when I showed her where I had sat alone in a bramble

Waiting for some refreshing drink

Or even wild creatures to investigate.

I carried her through the dry, tall grasses

Now brittle from August’s toll:

Telling my tales all the way along

I was an outcast; the tales, lies.

She conferred a blessing on me, nonetheless.

In her mind I qualified to be resplendent--

To be present among my dead.