RHYME Poem by Lehana Simon

In my first act as a contortionist, i’d be a pretzel in your black box;
square pegs in round holes and the audience would erupt
in laughter that bursts like fireworks.
Bent over backwards straight into a handstand,
ushering my fingers forward past the eggshells
and my eyes would summon the sea.

In my second act, i’d be on the tightrope,
walking that fine line
between my dreams and yours for me.
I’d hold my breath until blue
if it meant finishing the act and applause from you.

For my third act, you’d need a season pass.
I’d sport shoes I can’t fill, a new nose plus a red wig.
My hands a frantic blur, yet none would slip:
a baby, a briefcase, a dinner plate and a whip.
I’d make it look effortless
and everyone would suppose
that they too could do clown shit,
all they’d need is a red nose.

I’ve dreamt of joining the circus,
because, there, you’d be amazed.
I’d be the enchanting virtuosa,
and you’d beckon me to ‘do it again!’

But a whisper caught in the morning dew
said ‘XX’, so, I guess, dreams come true.