Juggler's World: Vol. 43, No. 2


Street Mime

by Ann B. Knox

Sunday's river flows easy, buses nudge the bank and drift on, bicycles weave the current like trout.

On the museum steps children slip through the crowd waiting for doors to open at noon. A boy pauses to watch a black-coated man stagger pulled by an unseen leash, an invisible dog. Couples draw back appearing unconcerned, a girl smiles, the man bows to her, then spreads his hands wide and silver balls lift in an arc high over his head. Faces pivot, concentric rings of laughter riffle the surface, an island spreads from his feet. Look, he signals, shoals are not firm, you cannot walk steady here the river's bed is unquiet as dreams.

A passerby holds his course straight with the rudder of his briefcase. The mime points, shrugs. We laugh but shift our feet to be sure we are grounded on ascending marble stairs.

Poetry / Index, Vol. 43, No. 2 / jis@juggling.org
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