I remember it well, that scene

by Francesca Del Moro

I remember it well, that scene,
it was years ago:
glances slapping my cheeks
words flaying my back.
How easy it is to die,
how quick it can be.
If they cut the rope
I’ll be dashed to pieces,
it will all be over.
I’m almost glad at the thought,
though only perhaps because
blood has flooded my brain.
You deserve it, they said,
because you’re a nobody.
I hung there almost all day,
my face blue
my legs turned to wood.
Today you all say:
how does he do it?
Your eyes stare up at me.
Watch, I’ll show you:
I paint the air like a rainbow,
I rip the sky like the trail of a jet,
I draw clouds of all shapes and sizes,
each one a riddle.
I curve like the crescent moon,
I spread my arms like a bird.
When I come down,
I feel dizzy,
with my feet on the ground
I always risk a tumble.
But soon evening comes,
and fear fades away
when I grasp my silk
and once again
am the one up there
looking down on you.