31

The curtain is ripped anda single ray of light falls
on the little one kneeling in the dust.
Above her head the trapezes rocks side to side.
Soon they will be still with only memories of long gone firm grips.
The tent is empty now.
The absence of the brass orchestra
and the emptiness after childrens laughter and awe
haunts the little one sitting in the sand.
In the middle of the ring.
The once lighted manege.
Tears clean becomes dirty
on the cheeks dusted with makeup.
Resulting in stripes in the face of the little one.
No hoofbeats.
No lions roar.
The circus is dark,
all that remains is the clown.