Your Dying Circus

Your disease, they say, possesses its prey
then rots out your bones till they crumble to dust.

It stretches your canvas, tight to your frame,
with a few taught threads to hold you together.

Yes, under your tent, a circus pulses. Blown out
through your mouth are lunch and distrust.

But hidden away, backstage and below it,
are savages rustling. Their cages are rusting.

You are full of monsters, locked away tight—
frothing and raging under all your ceremonies.

Photo Credit: torbakhopper via Compfight cc


Catherine Zickgraf

Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities—yet homeschooling her autistic youngest inspires her the most. Her writing has appeared in Journal of the American Medical Association, [Pank], Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries.

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