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| Women of the Merry-Go-Round
by MadPoetess
***
We slip through the chain-link gate-
We three have long
ago
Paid our entrance fee.
In the starless hours of the morning,
We
walk the silent midway,
While the carnival is still
And the Ferris Wheel
rises
its circle of lightless bones
Against the fool-moon sky.
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 | No
carnies call to us
In hoarse seductive barks
Of what waits behind
dart-burst ballons;
They sleep in their trailers,
Lulled by the scent of
cotton candy
Still floating in the windless air.
No one, no officer in
reassuring blue
Glides past the open gate
On his fifth-time circle round
the lake.
We are alone.
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 | We walk as tall as we are,
No shorter, no
thinner, no different,
Unafraid, past the hall of mirrors.
In this secret
morning-night,
The distorting glass
Has no power over us.
We
stride, dust moving
With the rhythm of our sandals,
Arms swinging free and
strong,
Past unmoving tilt-a-whirls,
Empty dragonships,
Childless
teacups waiting to be filled. |
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In the middle of it all,
The
carousel,
Glittering birthday cake ride,
Glass jewels on plaster
harnesses,
Glossy paint on frozen statues
Molded in the shapes of
fine-bred horses.
We step aboard
With the swing of a ready foot.
I
reach out my hand
To help my sisters up,
Only to find they are beside
me,
Moon-smiles reflected on their mouths.
We place hands on the neck of a
dark charger,
A grey jumper,
A golden stamper of hooves.
Feet firmly in
pot-metal stirrups,
We swing into the molded saddles,
Gripping cold metal
poles
In calm, warm hands,
And wait. |
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The flick of a lever, and the
music starts,
The lights come up,
The harnesses are filled with rubies,
sapphires,
And the air is filled with diamonds.
The last smiling
woman
Steps up from the center,
Laughs and climbs onto her horse,
And
the running starts.
Horses rise and fall, neighing softly,
Tossing
their unchecked heads,
And we, too, toss ours,
Long hair whipping in the
wind of the turning,
Warm necks and tangled manes beneath our hands,
Faces
thrown, open-eyed, to the lightening sky,
The lingering moon.
No one can
catch us,
We spin so fast.
We ride the ponies of the
dawn.
c. Amy Robinson, 1995
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