And They Roared in Answer
G.K. Hansen
When I was very small, yes, I talked to tigers,
seeking out their dens in sun-striped hollows,
each day in the rolling fields behind my house,
heedless of their teeth and warning snarls.
Seeking out their dens in sun-striped hollows,
I was on safari, belly flat against the earth.
Heedless of their teeth, their warning snarls,
I crept ever closer to the ovens of their lairs.
I was on safari, belly flat. Against the earth
I put my cheek down. Breathing in the smell of tigers
I crept ever closer to. The ovens of their lairs
drew me, like nothing ever would again.
I put my cheek down, breathing in. The smell of tigers,
hot and musky-sweet, rolled over me as I lay there,
drew me like nothing ever would again.
It summoned up the words from my belly, from my heart.
Hot. And musky. Sweat rolled over me as I lay there.
The tigers flickered in their dens, like living fire –
it summoned up the words. From my belly, from my heart,
all the things I couldn’t say rising up like smoke.
The tigers flickered in their dens. Like living fire.
I’ve never forgotten how that made everything,
all the things I couldn’t say, rise up like smoke,
freed by the heat that blazed out from their bodies.
I’ve never forgotten. How it made everything
become striped and simple from that moment on,
freed by the heat. That blazed out from their bodies,
along with the smell and the fierceness of their eyes.
Become striped and simple! From that moment on,
each day in the rolling fields behind my house,
alone with the smell and the fierceness of their eyes,
when I was very small. Yes. I talked to tigers.
G. K. Hansen lives in Somerville, MA and will shortly have been married for an entire year. Hobbies include talking about horses and gently bullying other people into writing poetry. Publications include “Scion” in Liminality‘s first issue and the forthcoming “Red Flower” with Carnation Press. Online at https://twitter.com/vaalski.