There were always too many people in your crowd, and the shouting
never stopped, especially after dark, in your unlined parking lot.
There was too much loud and too little rope. There was too much whistling
and not enough wonder. There was that one act of thunder the audience
loved. You could clap away doubt, set despair on fire, dazzle the arena
with desires. So many sequins, such pockets of gold luck. You were a thousand
acts. You were the temper tamer, the herder of bad deeds. But who is
the ticket holder and who is the thief? There were no animals
left when I stole away. Someone had pushed open the gates. Was it you?
Was it me? The parking lot still held no lines, but someone had littered
stars all over the uneven ground so that no one could leave without
breaking all of them—even the tenderest, even the ones who said please.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 2.
Shuly Cawood is the author of the memoir, The Going and Goodbye (Platypus Press, 2017). Her creative writing has been published in places such as The Rumpus, Zone 3, San Pedro River Review, Prime Number Magazine, and The Louisville Review. She received the 2014 Betty Gabehart Prize, and her website and blog can be found at www.shulycawood.com.
See all items about Shuly Cawood
