the tigress

When I was over at Lexy's on Sunday, she was slicing up an onion to sautee (pasta and white wine sauce with clams! supar nummeh!) and the first line popped into my head. I told it to her and she laughed. For anyone coming out of a difficult time, working their way out of a funk so to speak, a big part of the challenge is dispelling the negative illusions in the "what kind of a person am I?" part of our thinking. This is a pretty bold and brassy sonnet--but it's supposed to be, as an encouragement and a counter to illusions. :D "You go, girl."



The kind of woman who makes onions cry
because she did not slice them thin enough;
who'll answer pat when lovers ask her why
their anxious favors met her cool rebuff.
She sleeps with novels written for her friends,
and when dreams misbehave, she cuts them loose.
I'd load my straining back to serve her ends,
but bowing, weary, to her is no use.
Bright, like a tigress throned among the sheep,
who do not satisfy, yet genuflect,
she calmly conquers but won't deign to keep
those who don't find the strength to show respect.
But for the lucky few who understand,
she'll sheath her claws, smile soft--open her hands.