Anna Saunders

The sky will not be empty of acrobats
for long, soon they will come,
ascend the steps into the bright ether.

I watched a girl climb the ladder yesterday,
rise up to a perch at the top,
heard the instructor
tell her to grip the trapeze and leap.

When she swung the strings seemed invisible,
it looked as if she was hanging from the sky.

That same morning at school a student
dragged herself into class if her sorrows
were huge stones in her pockets.

She’s not the only one round here
to be fixed to the earth by ballast,
but something changes
when they start to write—
their bodies seem airborne.

Yesterday I watched them turn
to crescent moons—
concave against azure.

Those with more experience can turn over
and in on themselves,
subvert their vision
whilst they are up there.

I will never tire of seeing this, the way
these little artists marry the heavens.