There are tigers in the forest.
I used to think I was tame. No one
knows why they are given
a certain task. My task
is to catch the tigers.
We keep each other strong.
My arms are bare. My head
is bare. We stay awake. We prowl.
A friend offers me a bit of something dead.
What is dead is dead, but still I try
to make of it something useful. I tie it
to a ribbon of blue and cast it into the forest.
The tigers do not care for beauty.
The tigers care nothing for what is dead.
It is me that they want.
I stay strong. The tigers stay strong.
I walk closer to the tigers
until we are face to face.
I have nothing to offer them
except for myself. This is all
we ever have to offer.
The tigers follow me now.
Once I thought I was hunter.
Now I see we are all each other’s prey.
There is a room with no windows,
a room with two hidden doors.
I lead the tigers here, though I
have never been here before.
The first door closes behind us
and as the tigers explore
I push on the weight of an inner wall
and slip through an inner door.
Anything tame is a lie.
It is only me that I want
and I will do even that
which I think is impossible.
I do not need a weapon.
I do not need a lure.
I am the wall that I slip through.
I am the hidden door.