Like , maybe, a cavern beneath the midway where you can still hear the tinkling calliope music, the “Step right up, step right up,” still smell the spun sugar, buttered popcorn. The dank corridor would be lined with familiar faces: the human cannonball straightening her leotard, Annie Oakley cleaning her rifle, and the bearded lady takes your arm. Watch her unfasten her beard, swipe away the spirit gum, smooth her silk gown and she tells you: One part’s the costume and one part isn’t and never assume you know the difference.
Amber Edmondson is a poet and book artist who lives on a decommissioned Air Force base that is probably haunted. Her work has appeared most recently in Menacing Hedge, Stirring: A Literary Collection, and Yellow Chair Review. Her chapbook, Lost Birds of the Iron Range, is forthcoming from Porkbelly Press in 2016.
Artwork: Abigail Larson, “The Night Circus”