Catcher
In college
my boyfriend and I
lived in a small apartment
on Johnson Avenue
the landlords
were a quiet older couple
his wife often told us
her husband was a “catcher”
for the Trapeze in the 1950s
for Barnum and Bailey
I tried not to over-notice
his distorted arms
and curled in fingers
He tried to fix our sink once
but had to call in someone else
after the tremors were too much
I think about him now
imagining all those years he spent
upside down, swinging back and forth
waiting
when we lived in that flat
I used to thank my boyfriend
almost every night
for taking me away from my family
for keeping me safe
I didn’t understand then
how one person
is destined to catch another
how the heavy swell of memory
of another’s arms
finds you years later
as if you were in the audience
looking on from afar
waiting
to catch yourself