UNLOADING THE CIRCUS TRAIN
We meet in eyes, stark sure the Lie is gone. I, in stoic-trance you, eyes pinned, lips tremble their dumb acceptance. The place we are is near: I am five. My green world hitched to your seasoned hand hoisted to a shoulder-seat above the midnight stand of initiates; our eyes arc lights for switching. We crowd against the cold fall rain roustabouts fling down a ramp. The elephants first out drag tent poles and tarps, stamp in mud, clank chains; men shout swing kerosene lamps, unload the train. In our world (my mother not there) we thought to meet circus trains bringing The Greatest Shows on Earth always. Only rains drum sure as your life goes. Father, there are no schedules here.