title from William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act III, Scene II
I have a Caliban locked in my heart,
a child of the moon. He reminds me sometimes
of all the beautiful places he’s shown me—
the heart’s clear springs and its riches.
How we loved each other then.
There was a time he would offer
to lick my shoes. There was a time
I would follow him everywhere.
I invited him to sleep in my sheets.
I would rub his wild scruff till he purred.
I poured him my best wine in my best glass.
I sang him to sleep. There are some betrayals
we will never forgive. Or so
we tell ourselves. Now he is insolent.
Now I’ve built walls. Now he’s rebellious.
Now I’m master I’d rather not be.
It was so much more wonderful then
when we were friends, when I trusted him
and delighted in the most primal parts of me.
And though I lock him up now, he reminds me
through his cage of the sweet airs of the heart
and the music inside us that longs to be obeyed.