They arrive in red lipstick, hoop earrings,
one wearing yellow pants on his head,
his father’s large shoes. He is the clown,
striped and dotted, introducing his older
brother and sister as they instruct him to do.
Somersaults. Pyramids. Amateur magic tricks.
This sounds like a metaphor but it is
not; my children are planning a circus
for this circus season, in the land of circuses
and chaos, circles like citrus fruits,
ever overlapping on the New York Times
digital map of the outbreak. The map
that is beautiful if you don’t know
what it means. It could be beautiful.
