Tiger Butter

A Walk in the Park
A Walk in the Park
mcox

Tiger Butter

                                     Is it only when you're little
                               you know tigers live in your closet--
                               one with your shoes on his two ears,
                            another with your umbrella tied to his tail;
                                      the rest wearing your red coat
                               and blue trousers with the red buttons?
                                         Is it only when you're little
                            the dustballs have mountainous shadows
                                 In the crack of light under the door?
                        Or is it also NOW you fear that tigers will eat you--
                             when you wake in the middle of the night
                                      and don't know where you are,
                                nor remember how far you've come.
                                  Your nose hurts like a plowed field,
                                                   your fingers stiff--
                           Then somehow, you remember what you've
                                                 accomplished.
                                           The sewing is finished--
                            The red buttons threaded to the blue pants
                                    and the little coat with its sleeves.
                          And you know you have given them to the tigers
                                             (so they won't eat you).
                               But they chased themselves around a tree
                                               and melted into butter.
                          NOW you can pick up your coat and trousers,
                                           your shoes and umbrella.
                             Soon, even, you can start your car and go--
                                         The promise of dawn already
                                                        on the face
                                                  of the clock-radio.

Diane Glancy