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      June 12, 2010The Circus of Inconsolable LossWendy Taylor Carlisle

      There is only one ring for those sweating horses with the preternaturally
      flat backs and the fat smooth rumps from which ladies
                                                                            in stained tights vault onto the sawdust
                                                                                                                    or another horse.

      Only one ring for the hung-over clowns and their Volkswagen,
      a car so old it must be pushed into the one ring
              which is also the one for the acrobats and the tigers and contortionists
                                                                               and dogs that walk on their hind legs,

      then stop to scratch their necks, itchy under spangled ruffs. Above them
      wire walkers and trapeze guys swing,
                                                                       mayfly-graceful. Under them the one ring
                                                     reminds the audience to celebrate, each in their own

      constrained and special way,
      the emptiness they’ve come to in the spaces where other rings should be.

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      from #32 - Winter 2009