Caren Krutsinger Poet Narrative

Illusion Like a Clown

I dig into my make up to put on my new face.
Something fresh and entertaining.
Red lipstick for sure, lots of black around the eyes.
I have to look lively; it adds to my funniness.
My pal Lulu is staring at me. I see she is worried.
I give her an encouraging smile, but she is not fooled.
She knows me better than the others in this troupe.
I have worked with her for a long time. I wink.
She waves me off, but gives me a smile.
It is starting to work. I can do this.
Put my sadness behind me, forget Sammy’s death.
For two hours while I entertain children who are ready.
They clamor toward me yelling “The clown! The clown!”
I start in on the tricks right away – pulling out scarf after scarf.
Finding a shiny quarter behind a delighted toddler’s left ear.
“You go Dad!” whispers Sammy. Proving he is not gone.
Death is as much an Illusion as a clown.

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