If Life Was a Circus, You Were My Clown

Julia Ruth Smith

Trampolining on seagrass, our performing dog dives and stinks. Silver hoops hold acrobatic seabirds. Rainbow-scaled, ready for the final act, I hear fate tip tapping. 

The pretty girls are painting your po-face; I find a swing of driftwood and soar, following the signposts, up and over the waves, a rocket pointing towards the sun. Golden surfers squint and wonder at the no going back of it all.

When I burn down in flames, I perform a backwards flip and land in the heart of your one-handed applause. As I take a low, magnificent bow, the ringmaster turns out the lights.

This story was shortlisted in the November 2021 Monthly Micro Competition.

About the author: Julia Ruth Smith is a teacher, mother and writer of small things who lives by the sea in Italy. You can find her poetry and prose in Full House Literary Magazine, Sledgehammer Lit, Glittery Literary and elsewhere; shortlisted for Retreat West Monthly Micro. Twitter @JuliaRuthSmith1