Kia ora koutou,
Once upon a time a doctor said to me, ‘You have entered Tiger Country, Renée, and when you least expect them, the tigers will come out.’
So I wrote a poem about tigers.
We all have them, different tigers for different times. I have a few and sometimes they sleep and sometimes they wake up and snarl. You will know the experience. I don’t know what your tigers are and vice versa, but tigers are tigers, metaphorically speaking, so here’s the poem…
Tiger Country
You plunge off the cliff into Tiger Country sleek and smiling tigers play hide and seek slope around abandoned chairs, sad tables silk cushions call encouragement from the sofa an old painting turns its face to the wall.
Tigers lurk in old cards, beneath yours forever snooze under Christmas lights that never worked lope ahead to a destination only they know signposts are suspect; there is no tunnel, no light nobody pins a tail on these tigers.
Some nights after the sun has flamed and seabirds search the pastures of the sea tigers come out and lean gentle over your chair – wrap you in a striped shawl of sturdy warmth fold their paws and purr soft in the silent room.
This is the danger time. Stand up. Walk slow. Their eyes are on the game and you’re it.
Renée
