Family Circus

We stand inside a circus tent. The stands and stage have made way for a large muddy plain in which we slowly sink. He tells me, in earnest, 'When you find a good spot for a castle, hang on to that land and renovate as needed'. I clasp his shoulders - I know he will leave soon.

I wake up and feel I'm swaying. I feel arms locked around me: he's carrying me. I pretend to stay asleep, like I used to do as a kid. I wonder why I did that. Was it to let my dad carry out his duty, to show me he loved me in his own way? 

Sometimes I like to stand halfway on the ladder to my bed as I come down, to see my world from a different perspective. To look out my window, at the trees and rooftops, from a little higher up. Later on the ground I feel taller.

Tall I must be to face him. At night, with my back to the city lights, I stare across the dark water. But I remember the light. The black wind pulls me back but I must return, must return to the tightrope. Despite my ruthless longing to fall I must stand. As I balance, I hold the vase which encapsulates him, hold it and long to drop it. But I never drop it, I work hard. I unify what was once unfragmented, restoring the original logic of my soul - dropping nothing on the way.