Corde Pareille

By | 1 March 2017

I never had a ladder, I’m the illusionist.
We dance the equilibre. I climb the corde pareille.
You hold out your hand, cupping
a large nail, and tell me it’s sacrificial.
A tight wire, I’m done
with my balancing pole. I climb
to your hand, an aerial act
under the cupola. You offer charee-varie
to help ease my walk. I sweat and strain,
everything harder than yesterday.
You invite me with an open palm –
I swing and pirouette.
Your whole life a smoke with disdain.
Crowds of critical eyes on my safety line.
Snakes form infinities waiting for the fall.
You know it would take a push
and that would be all.

In response to After ‘Genesis’ (Genèse) by Yves Tanguy, 1926 Oil,
39 3/8 x 31 7/8″, Collection Claude Hersent, Meudon, France.

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