The Clown Speaks
©2012 Susan Noyes Anderson
Marc Chagall – Head of a Clown
If I should wake up and be free
of all the people watching me
and say goodbye to tightrope walking,
big top, and calliope––
then would I search the silence deep,
embrace the parts of me that sleep,
let go of cotton candy dreams,
and hold to truth that I can keep.
La cirque makes life a bagatelle,
a hanging-by-your-knees trapeze.
(But still I crave the salty smell
of peanuts roasted in the shell.)
What is this tent that holds me fast,
this ringmaster that paints my face?
If I sign on, the die is cast.
The shell game has its way at last.
∞§∞
If this poem intrigues you, you might also enjoy reading The Watcher.
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Tags: a poem about life, being authentic, being real, individuality, life, marching to your own drummer