our circus

The resolutions were forming in my head. Each pixel whirred into a specter of rainbow light before settling into oblivion. Some walked the tight rope. Some rode the one tyre bicycle. Some walked on stilts looking over the heads of those who hoola-hooped. Some could see only two rays coming out of the prism. They said the prism was bad, others argued it was their eyesight.

We bit into candy floss, our mouths getting covered in its smells. There were village belles with bells sewn onto their skirts which made noises providing us with our sense of direction. There was fog over the giant wheels or maybe clouds that were cut through by shards of neon light. There were the screams from tattoo shops and roars from caged lions.

I sat in the corner near the frozen round-a-bout wondering if this was where I was supposed to be. This was a rather tough world. Rather hard. Rather wicked…no not wicked rather empty, insecure? Rather envious…no not..., rather sad, apathetic.
I felt pity and contempt and fear. The round-a-bout set in motion.

I continued sitting, watching. The boys made a big so-sha about not seeing the light streaming through the tilted prism. The girls fussed over bangles that would go with the deep blue of their mirrored embroidery. A sweet meat man untiringly made pyramids of his sweets which the flies covered and protected against the moisture in the air.

The man walking the tight rope was coming back. The girl on the bicycle circled around a path that marked an infinite loop. You should have seen her face. There was a mask of content. The only other face that rivaled hers was the man with placid expressions. Running across his chest were blades and hooks tugged into his chest. Dried blood erupted in straight lines like a dug out palace garden.

And did you see the fortune teller? She sat cross legged caressing the baldness of her crystal ball and when the boys came to her she drew roadmaps on their palms. Did they ask which countries they were leading to?
No. They just tendered the exact change and left.

And did you hear what the man said when the girl asked which was better entertainment: laughing mirrors or almond bhang. "It's the same thing".

'though, there is a difference', I wanted to shout.
One is within, the other without.
but the rain quietened us out.

© Rochelle Potkar