The Lioness in Winter
I.
I have been
The Lioness,
licking my paws
and letting my roar escape into the still night air,
breaking the silence
out of rage or exasperation or sheer exultation,
sometimes for the simple joy
of letting the roar out,
cutting through the night air,
under the black sky
and the fifty million stars.
II.
I have been
Fire.
My flame dancing around you,
flickering, flaring up.
My heat has burnt you.
I have kept you all at bay.
I know the threat of consumption or engulfment
has kept you at arms’ lengths.
I have, at times,
touched everything in my path
with destruction.
III.
I have held my misery
in my arms, as I would hold
my child.
I have kept it at my breast,
nurturing and feeding it,
almost, at times, eager
for it to grow.
At times, I have passed the child to you,
said, “Do you see now?
Isn’t she heavy?
How would you like to lug her around
day in and out?”
But this is only a game I like to play:
a trick, a trap,
a manipulation.
IV.
I stumble into each day,
stumble through each day,
always trying to make sense of this thing,
this crazy mess;
always aching for an answer,
hands ever grasping
for something more than.
V.
Even when I make my mistakes,
the same mistakes
again and again and again;
even when I wreak havoc and create chaos,
when I am the creator
of my own catastrophes,
when I am to be the instrument
of my own destruction,
when I rush
towards ruin,
I am still in love
with “the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift;”
with the green grasses and the sunny days;
with learning
and progress and growth and change,
and with moving forward, moving on.
I am still in love with the sound of your laughter
when I do something so me.
And I am in love with the sensation
of the rock salt melting on tongue
on tequila night.
I am in love with the sound of my own voice
and the world of words
and all the hands that hold me up,
but most of all,
I am in love
with The Lioness,
even in winter.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
