Updated: Dec 1, 2018
My love of flying grew from this:
The rope slung in a “U” from one side of the big top roof
to the other. The man stepping in, pushing it to a “V”
and the rope itself sheathed in cotton, thick and supple.
His hands gripped at shoulder height and there he stood
like isosceles, ankles together, broadening to leonine shoulders.
Then gently dipping at the knees, he pushed himself
as I’ve done, standing on a swing. He swung so high
his toes then heels beat the roof and the canvas rippled.
Deftly, he braided legs and rope, pushed the swing higher still,
his hair sweeping over his face, then clearing as he surged forward
and let go,
arms outstretched, plummeting
then climbing in an arc of peace.
He flew in an inverted cross,
a smooth sweep of simple harmony in motion.
Below, the sea of expectant faces traced mini arcs of the swing,
feeling the rock and lull of his flying leap.
Ursula Beaumont ©
'The Leap' was first published in ArtAscent Art and Literature Journal 34, December 2018, page 39. https://artascent.com/