the thrill is in the possibility not that she will but that she won’t make it that the parabola will fade stop and the very air will arc between her fingers and the rung and that in that sequined flash the sawdust ring will rocket up to catch her clumsy fall of course she never will since her very first pied à tête she has learnt to stop breath upside down and inside out to swallow dive on the intake and lift again in the gasp to swoop in a swooping ellipse of light and to laugh in spite of the spite she spites by James Norcliffe |
Archived Issues > Volume 9 Issue 2 >