Big Tent

Big Tent
It certainly didn’t start there under the big tent,
no circus in town this day.
It started, rather, under the bed sheet,
the hight count percale covering the two
softening the morning’s first glance,
her face, in repose, against the white pillow
drawing from him a deep gratitude
for their new, shared life,
his love meeting her’s at its highest point,
where trust and equality reign,
with no end in sight.
She responds to his touch.
Lying close and quiet,
he imagines himself as Emmett Kelly, the famous clown,
in the center ring
of a three-ring circus, the crowd hushed
as the spotlight finds him
and waits for his next pantomime.
His gratitude is so deep, though, that all he can do
is remove his hat, place it over his heart
and bow, his clown face smiling,
but his eyes filled with tears streaming down
his painted cheeks.
And just as suddenly, he’s back in bed,
his head pulled to her chest, and his tears,
real ones, wet ones,
soaking her gown and his beard.
As the quiet torrent of gratitude and joy
slowly subsides,
he becomes aware again of how much she has come
to mean to him,
their short acquaintance period more than matched
by the intensity of it,
the tears an eternal seal of some kind,
the pairing,
another unique couple in the household of God.


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