ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

My girlfriend stuck her head
once in a lion's mouth. That thrill
transpired a long time ago,
before we met. Any afternoon she will
break into song about the days
spent in that traveling carnival show,
when she bunked with the young
daughter of the gorilla trainer.
The freedom! I like to imagine her
running in the tall grass behind
the main tent, or sneaking through
the maze of tiger cages to share
secrets with the knife-thrower's
bold lover, who never flinches.
At a picnic, once, she broke into
one of her songs and i forgot
to stop pouring the lemonade,
or that anyone else was even there.
Even though I did not know her
when she traversed the great
northwest in the company of seals
and elephants, I bet she was already
the unspoken sweetheart of that rag-
tag bunch. After a violin recital—
during which she cried ("the beauty!")—
was the only time i heard
the story of the great circus fire:
a huge melting of big top canvas,
animals and even some people.
"Circus Conflagration!" the papers
hawked. The flames lit the skies
in Oregon for miles around. She never
sings at night, and when she wakes
shivering, i just hold her head
and whisper my stories in her ear.