super silver
February 6, 2008 | Filed Under ordinary | 3 Comments
early, i hear the cat pouncing on shadows in the kitchen, racing through into the rest of the house and back. i let him out and try to sleep again. it’s five, just before, everyone breathing deep and slow. it’s not too early to stay awake, so i do it, feeling all motherly alone in the dark, stealing minutes for myself before the rest of them are given and taken away.
ernie took this picture, not me . . .
we went to the circus on saturday afternoon. for weeks now there’s been a billboard over the street that we turn for the tree park. a board with a tiger, an elephant, a speeding motorcycling daredevil. they talk about it and consider what it must be like after i tell them, “it’s no shriner circus!” as though they will know what that means, as though they will laugh along with me.
and it was definitely not the shriner circus. because my 50mm lens (so tiny!) comes off of my camera the man with the wand and the yellow jacket at the door made me check it with the woman wielding a walkie, her faux fingernails perched on the button gloriously. so i don’t have any photographs of the flashing of lights, the colors that spun and swooped from one end to the next. i didn’t know it would be so much of what it was. i only hope it was appreciated as much by the people in the $85 seats (!) down below. that elephant that skipped, the horse that marched with the music, the teeny dog that leaps to catch the frisbee thrown through the air, the multitude of motorcycles spinning in circles in a cage, could you people in front see all of that?
if i didn’t have my own circus to feed and juggle i might be tempted to run off with those ringling brothers and all of their fancy costumes. i could smile, wave my arms while wearing white cowboy boots, calling out to the small herd of miniature white horses who run in circles, turquoise plumes waving on their heads. with some practice (much practice) i could fling myself through the air on a trapeze, the glitter on my tights catching the light as my strong arms and hands catch the other girl, the one with her hair in a knot who spins somersaults over and again. could i be the lone girl on a motorcycle that zips in a circle, upside down and fast, weaving my way between other bikes without blinking or breathing? i would have to have long hair to be her, long blonde hair that would fall to my shoulders as i took off my helmet during the applause. oh, to ride on an elephant, to cartwheel across the floor, a series of backflips, to stand on my chin atop a stack of chairs and tiny tables, three times a day, days in and out, the country, the world beneath my slippered feet.