At the Gates of the Circus
story and illustration by Jameson Currier
acrylic on paper
20240714001

AT THE GATES OF THE CIRCUS

Just after the first snow had melted
and froze into a glaze of ice,
We went to the circus
uptown near Lincoln Center.

He had trouble walking that night,
not just from the ice —
He had lost too much weight,
the lesions taken hold of him.

He refused the cane I bought him,
Refused my arm for support, too.
Dignity showing its colors, I knew.
Vanity proving it’s pride.

As we approached the entrance,
strings of lights illuminated the gates.
A cold wind blew between us,
our heads bowed as if in prayer.

It was then I lost my balance
on a patch of ice,
And reaching out for support
I found his arm.

He caught me before I fell,
Saving me from embarrassment.
Isn’t it romantic, he said,
Lifting me with his smile.

______________

“At the Gates of the Circus” was first published in David’s Place Journal, Fall 1994.