We brought a tiger to our home
a cub of two-months old
his eyes so docile, poised until--
the Auctioneer yelled, “Sold!”
Our eyes met his like gnashing teeth,
our corneas like crowns,
“I am your Master,” I declared,
and tied the small beast down.
What wilds and woods besought him
vast lands within his gaze?
“Look here, sweet boy,” my wife would coo,
then feed him seeds and maize.
Many nights we woke in terror
to rattling locks and roars,
our tiger restless in his cage
and clawing at the floor.
She built a fire by his side
and sung songs soft and low
with none the fearful glance unfurled
toward fangs and fur aglow.
By day I sowed the seeds of May,
as lily pistils called
for bees or rain or anything
last season could recall.
But spring was barren, set ablaze;
Conclusion of an age!
As Harvest turned to hopelessness
and toil spun to rage.
“Thus why we have the tiger grown,
so lean—but hearty still!
Now make your peace, I’ll slit its throat
so we may have our fill.”
My wife was calm, but I could tell
this caused her misery
Her vacant womb, transformed into
Tiger’s reliquary.
“In the morning, please Beloved,
Just one more night with him.
I know we’re hungry, so it is
tomorrow’s no more grim.”
I paused a moment, wiped by brow
a sickle in my hand
“And so it is,” my frail lips bowed
and kissed her wedding band.
I wakened famished, eager still
to feed upon what’s ours:
the taste of meat between my teeth
and blood among the flowers.
Though faint of heart, no cowardice
could squelch my battle cry!
I panted onward toward the beast,
a Combine to the rye.
A fire pit of embers sent
thin smoke into my eyes
as I approached the tiger flat,
his fur dipped in red dyes.
The smell leapt forth with cymbals clashed
and sent me to my knees.
My wife’s perfume, her flesh, her wounds
rose like Hell before me.
I raised the sickle, cocked my head,
choked the words, “God damn you!”
But Tiger, coral, fast asleep;
nothing in his purview.
Each key was silver at my belt
and clanged with my advance.
Lamentations, Revelation—
each Book would have its dance!
My hands they shook like autumn trees,
where keys and cage collide.
I opened firm the iron gates
and locked myself inside.
Most nights are nights and that is all;
I sleep until the crow.
But moons have found skies desolate,
and this is all I know:
We brought a tiger to our home
when loss kneeled all around,
when I “Beloved” to a wife,
dared wear a thorny crown.