- Three Ring
after Sarah Bates
When I was twelve, I refused to ridethe circus elephant. I watched my sisterstraddle its wrinkled back, her ponytailfrayed and eyes wide. I shifted my weight
in the dirt and looked away. SometimesI lay on the floor of a jack pine forestand counted the knots and brancheson their trunks. I like to feel small amidst
the clusters of needles. Not for big tops,for tightropes. Not for any boy. Thereare 39 types of trees in Upper Michiganand they all remind me of broken door
knobs. You in a black jacket. Tobacco spitin my tea bottle. I used to worry aboutwho would save the acrobats if they fell.What net could stop the crumple of bones,
the tangle of curls. When I close my eyes,I see the elephant shift its weight, my sisterin the dirt, me straddling her back. Pumpingher chest. You and a bridge and a black car. [End Page 20]
Alaina Pepin teaches middle and high school English in Gold Beach, Oregon. Her work has appeared in Dunes Review, Rust + Moth, and Beech Street Review, among others.