Acrobats, I found you in a year when certain creativity was in the flux of

bloom or chrysalis. Your eyes greeted mine with stark white cornstarch and

charcoal on your foreheads… and your noses creased with a smile. It would rain on each

day you were scheduled to perform. Waiting and starring at the drops—falling, your

ears would pick up the thunder and the lightning would cue you forward. Would the

future be your white contrast, red contrast, black contrast against the monsoon world

growing darker or lifting? Acrobats, I found you all steady on your stilts. Reaching each

hand as it came towards you and lifting one after another into the sky as the sound of

indigenous Colombian flutes filled the air and the souls of all that stood in witness.

Joining us, joining all who followed you through the Square with a single audible gasp.

Kinetic human sculptures. Casting permanent shadows on the roadways where

life has taken you, imprints of music and passion on the memories of your audience.

Mucho Gusto.

Nemcatacoa Teatro and The Carpetbag Brigade hands tethered in performance with Great

Others. A range of faces I won’t forget & names my tongue intends to continue shaping.

Products of each other, products of self and nature, of society and the love of art. The

questions that are left on our lips may never form for you. Yet the matter will be long

retained. Acrobats, I have wishes that once again the bricks will be red and white and our

Square will give way to after-parties that reveal the tenderness and humanity that make

thunder and lightning have new meaning. Erasing a tornado that haunts a poet’s

unconsciousness. Acrobats, a homage and prayer, for each of you I have grown to know

very little, yet goose bumps rise and this jaw aches as I take on a challenge to

write to you and convey as much depth and width and weight as the variable

xi might call. All that is what you—Acrobats—drum up in the heat, this energy and

yearning. A comprehension of the vacío y palabras that awaken our chaos and our

zen. Mix well in a jar with love for my kin, rising dreams and the scent of rain.

Written for Daily Prompt: A to Z

Please click here for photography of the Bi Cultural Road Show events in Arizona.